ESSENTIALS 



OK 



Elocution and Oratory, 



VIRGIL A. PINKLEY, 

dn ector of the department of elocution in the college of 

Music of Cincinnati, and formerly Professor of Sacred 

Oratory in I^ane Theological Seminary. 







CINCINNATI : 

CRANSTON & STOWE. j <. 

NEW YORK : 
PHIIvLIPS & HUNT. 

i88S. 






Copyright by 
VIRGIL A. PINKLEY, 



1888. 'i 

I 



/ 



F5EF4SE 



It is the high aim of the Trustees and Faculty of the 
College of Music of Cincinnati to train the voices of their 
students according to physiological principles; that health 
may not be sacrificed; that the vocal organs may be given 
endurance; and that a quality of voice-expression may be 
cuU'- ited, whether in speech or in song, that is easy, nat- 
ural, and agreeable. For a long time, in common with my 
associates, I have felt the need of a text-book on Vocal and 
Visible Expression, prepared with these ends in full view. 
Herein, therefore, lies my apology, if apology be necessary, 
for throwing another book upon the world. 

I would call especial attention to the pages devoted to 
the Anatomy and Physiology of the vocal organs, and to the 
chapter on the Mechanism of Eespiration, as I believe that 
a careful study of this portion of the work can but produce 
excellent results. 

A somewhat comprehensive course on Calisthenics I ha*ve. 
introduced, because such a drill as recommended here will 
promote health, will increase the strength of the vocal appa- 
ratus, will improve the tone and timbre of the voice, and 
will add grace and beauty to bodily movements. 

In the pages on Gesture I have studied to point out 
in a form as condensed and as easy of comprehension as 



1 



4 PREFACE. 

possible, all that the student of Oratory needs to learn from 
books. Perfection in gesture, and in other modes of visible 
expression, like perfection in speech, can come only from 
long and constant practice, and under never-failing watch 
and correction. 

To Phonetics I have given considerable space, believing 
that a thorough understanding of the different sounds is 
essential to good reading and good speaking. 

I have taken some pains to prepare the pages on 
Orthoepy, in the hope that the learner may acquire a love 
for the study of pronunciation that will lead him to profi- 
ciency in this department of study. Without accuracy in 
accentuation and in enunciation, no one will meet with full 
success in reading or in speaking. As lawyers, physicians, 
preachers, artists, and scientists may be held justly account- 
able for the correct pronunciation of words peculiar to their 
respective professions, so may the orator be held responsible 
for the correct pronunciation of every word that falls from 
his lips. 

The very important subject, Modulation, I have en- 
deavored to present somewhat to advantage. Suggestions 
as to the character of thought requiring modulatory 
method; brief extracts, the reading of which is calcu- 
lated to cultivate skill in the use of that method; and 
Selections in which the method is questioned, are promi- 
nent characteristics, and, I believe, are valuable features 
of this book. 

Drawing from my experience as a teacher of Elocution 
for several years in Lane Theological Seminary, I have tried 
to write a chapter on Sacred Oratory that will be of use to 
students of Theology and to the Ministry as well, thinking 



PREFACE. 5 

that, perhaps, a few practical suggestions on this subject 
might be well received. 

In the choice and arrangement of the Oratorical Selections 
I have made an effort to present such a variety that exam- 
ples for practice, senatorial, dramatic, ethical, descriptive, 
dialectic, humorous, colloquial, and juvenile, may be easily 
found. 

In fine, it has been my aim to prepare a book on Elocution 
and Oratory that may serve as a guide to all grades of stu- 
dents who would acquire proficiency in the art of Vocal and 
Visible Expression, and, at the same time, a work that would 
contain only that which is true, pure, and practical. 

My thanks are due to those authors and publishers who 

have favored me with contributions, as well as to my friends 

and colleagues who have been kind enough to give me the 

benefit of their counsel and assistance during the progress 

of this work. 

VIRGIL A. PINKLEY. 

Cincinnati, August 4, 1888. 



co^TE^^TS. 



PAGE 

Preface, 3 

Introductory Remarks, 17 



Part I. 

ANATOMY, PHYSIOLOGY, AND HYGIENE OF THE 
RESPIRATORY AND VOCAL AGENTS. 

The Nose, . 25 

The Throat, 26 

The Trachea and Bronchi, 28 

The Thorax, 29 

The Muscles : Inspiratory and Expiratory, 31 

The Abdomen, 33 



Part II. 

RESPIRATION. 

Inhalation, 34 

E:^halation, 37 

Compound Movements, 39 

7 



8 CONTENTS. 

PAQIE. 

Respiratory Volumes, 40 

General Suggestions and Cautions, 41 



Part III. 

SIMPLE PHYSICAL CULTURE OR 
CALISTHENICS. 

Calisthenic Exercises, 43 



Part IV. 
GESTURE OR VISIBLE EXPRESSION. 

Attitude, Action, and Center of Motion, 50 

The Threefold Mission of Gesture, 52 

Lines, Parts, Directions, Zones, 53 

Head, Brows, Eyes, Nose, Mouth, Cheeks, Chin, 55 

Fingers, Hands, Arras, 58 

Shoulders, Chest, Trunk, 62 

Feet, Knees, Legs, 64 

Special Gestures, General Suggestions, and Cautions, .... 65 



Part V. 
PHONETICS. 

Diacritic Marks and their Significance, 71 

Simple Sounds, 72 

Compound Sounds, 73 

Needless Distinctions and Inconsistencies 73 



CONTENTS. 9 

PAGE. 

Long Flat a, Short a, Short ItaKan a, Short o, Broad o, and 

Long Italian a, 74 

Phonetic Spelling, 75 

Short e, Tilde e, Short u, Broad u, and r, 76 

Long a, Long e, Short i, y, 78 

Long 0, Long Double o, Short Double o, and w, ..... . 79 

Cognate Sounds, 80 

The Liquids, 82 

The Proper Diphthongs, 83 



Part VI. 
ORTHOEPY. 

Definition and Violations, 86 

Orthoepic Inconsistencies, 89 

Evil Tendencies in Orthoepy, ... 90 

Orthoepic Rules, . . . 91 

Orthoepic Exercises, . ... 93 



Part VII. 

MODUI.ATION. 

Defined and Outlined, 98 

Fundamental Drill, 98 

Conversational Tones, 100 

Tremulant Tones, 101 

Methods of Vocal Emission, 102 

Register, 108 

Power, 117 

Volume, 124 

Quality, 133 



10 CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

Time: Rate, 145 

Quantity, 152 

Pause, 153 

Inflection, 156 

Monotone, 163 



Part VIII. 

Diction, 165 



Part IX. 
SACRED ORATORY. 

Defective Articulation and Deficient Projectile Power, . . . 1.71 

Drawling and Irregularity of Delivery, 172 

Head and Nasal Tones, 172 

Mouthing and Clerical Sore Throat, . 173 

Monday Morning Prostrations, 173 

Unnaturalness, 174 

Speaking in a Too High Key, 174 

Eccentricities, 175 

Bible Readings, . 176 

Hymnal Readings, 178 



Part X. 

THOUGHT ANALYSIS. 

The Battle of Ivry, 181 

Gray's Elegy, 185 

Horatius at the Bridge, 194 

The Brides of Enderby, 207 



CONTENTS, 11 

Part XI. 
ORATORICAI. SEIvKCTlONS. 

PAGE. 

AiNO Legend, The, J. M. Crawford, .... 307 

Alone, . . . •% Coates Kinney, .... 300 

Apostrophe to the Ocean, The, . . . Byron, 132 

Aunt Polly's "George Washington," . Youth's Companion,. . 387 

Aux Italiens, Bulwer Lytton, .... 304 

Awfully Lovely Philosophy, Anon., 466 

Baby, The, J. W. Riley, 453 

Basket of Flowers, A, . . . . . . . . Sarah B. Stebbins, . . . 445 

Battle of Ivry, The, T. B. Macaulay, .... 181 

Bay Billy, Frank H. Gassaway, . • 317 

Bells, The, E. A. Poe, 343 

Bereaved, Florus B. Plimpton, . . 228 

Better than Gold, Virgil A. Pinkley, ... 230 

Birthday Reflections George D. Prentice, . . 109 

Blacksmith's Story, The, Frank Olive, 425 

Bore, The, J. G. Saxe, 263 

Brakeman at Church, The, R. J. Burdette, .... 458 

Brides of Enderby, The, Jean Ingelow, 207 

Bridge, The, Longfellow, 154 

Brother Watkins, John B. Gough, .... 378 

Brudder John's Vision, 365 

Brutus on the Death of Caesar, . . . Shakespeare, 143 

Burial of Sir John Moore, The, . . . Charles Wolfe, .... 136 

Cato ON THE Immortality OF THE Soul, Addison, 163 

Charcoal Man, The, J. T. Trowbridge, ... 406 

Child's Dream of a Star, A, . . . . . Dickens, 441 

Cleon and I. ...... Charles Mackay, .... 148 

Coronation, Perronet, 179 



12 CONTENTS. 

PAGE, 

Cricket, The, Anon., 129 

Curfew, The, Anon., 359 



Deacon's Story, The, N. S. Emerson, .... 430 

Death of Little Jo, Dickens, 125 

Death of Little Nell, Dickens, 119 

Dot Baby of Mine, ......... Charles F. Adams, ... 392 

Dot Leedle Loweeza " " " . . 393 

Dot Leedle Yawcob Strauss, .... " " " . . 391 

Driver's Christmas, The, M. L. Rayne, 422 

Dumb Savior, The Mary E. Bryan, .... 349 

Elf-child, The, James Whitcomb Riley, 452 

Elocution and Oratory, H. W. Beecher 20 

Elocution Applicant, The, Anon., 468 

Emmet's Vindication, 145 

Eugene Aram's Dream, Thomas Hood, 354 

Evangeline, Longfellow, 142 

Evening at the Farm, J. T. Trowbridge, . . • 404 

Fireman's Prayer, The, R. H. Conwell, .... 362 

Flash— The Fireman's Story, .... Will Carleton, 150 

Flood and the Ark, The, Hard-shell Preacher, . . 427 

Funeral, The, Will Carleton, 368 

Good-night, Papa, American Messenger, . 139 

Gradatim, J. G. Holland, .... 220 

Grattan's Invective, 159 

Gray's Elegy 185 

Guessing Nationalities, S. L. Clemens, .... 282 

Guilty or Not Guilty, Anon., 323 

Hamlet's Elocutionary Advice, . . Shakespeare, 113 

Hamlet's Soliloquy on Death, .... ** 146 

Horatius at the Bridge, T. B. Macaulay, .... 194 



CONTENTS. 

Tf we Knew, Anon., . . . . . 

Inquiry, The, Charles Mackay, 



Jimmy Butler and the Owl, . 



. Anon., 



Last Days of Herculaneum, .... Edwin Atherton, . 

Last Hymn, The, Marianne Farninghj 

Laughter, K. G. Ingersoll, . . 

Liberty and Union, Daniel Webster, . . 

Literary Nightmare, A, Samuel L. Clemens, 

Little Hatchet Story, The, . . . . . K. J. Burdette, . . 

Little Stow-away, The, Anon., 

Lookout Mountain, Battle of, ... . George L. Catlin, . 
Lost Sheep, The, Anon., 



Mac-o-chee, Donn Piatt, . . 

Maiden Martyr, The, Baltimore Elocutionist 

Mark Twain and the Interviewer, . . Samuel L. Clemens 

Marmion and Douglas, Sir Walter Scott, . 

Marullus to the Komans, Miss Mitford, . . 

Mary's Night-ride, George W. Cable, 

Mine Katrine, Charles F. Adams 

Model American Boy, The, Virgil A. Pinkley, 

Model American Girl, The, " " " 

Mountains, E. M. Morse, . . 

Mule and the Bees, The, Lock Melone, . . 



Napoleon, R. G, Ingersoll, . 

Necessity of Elocutionary Training, . Bishop Simpson, . 

New Baby, The, George W. Cable, 

New Cure for Rheumatism, R. J. Burdette, . 

Nicodemus Dodge, S. L. Clemens, . 



13 

PAGE. 

. 2ai 

. 158 

. 374 

. 345 

, 334 

. 221 

, 141 

, 243 

. 438 

, 434 

. 379 

. 386 

. 298 

. 321 

. 462 

. 115 

. 105 

328 

. 394 

221 

234 

143 

254 

. 302 
23 

257 
259 
278 



Old " Constitution," The, . . 
Old Man and Jim, The, .... 



O. W. Holmes, .... 123 
James Whitcomb Riley, 415 



14 CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

Old Man in the Model Church, The, . J. H. Yates, 413 

Old Reading-class, The, Will Carleton, 258 

Old Schoolmaster, The, L. 0. Harris, 325 

Old Woman's Railway Signal, The, . Elihu Burritt, 331 

One Niche the Highest, Elihu Burritt, 339 

On the Shores of Tennessee, . . . . E. L. Beers, 384 

Out to Old Aunt Mary's, J. W. Riley 303 

Owl Critic, The, James T. Fields, .... 270 

Paddy's Excelsior, Anon., 401 

Platonic Love, W. B. Terrett, . . . . . 253 

Psalm CXLVIII and CL, . .... .Bible, 131 

Psalm of Life, Longfellow, 227 

Pyramus and Thisbe, J. Gr. Saxe, 272 

Rain on the Roof, Coates Kinney, .... 215 

Resignation, Longfellow, 296 

Richelieu and France, Bulwer Lytton, .... 107 

Richelieu's Reflections, " " .... 106 

Riding on the Rail, J. G. Saxe, 265 

Rizpah, Lucy Blinn, 352 

Royal Princess, A, Christina G. Rossetti, . 314 

Sam's Letter, Our American Cousin, . 268 

Sandy Macdonald's Signal, Anon., 454 

Schneider Sees Leah, Schneider, 395 

Second Trial, A, Sarah W. Kellogg, ... 335 

Seed-sowing, Virgil A. Pinkley, ... 225 

Seven Decades of Man, The, .... " " " ... 218 

She would be a Mason, ....... James C. Laughton, . . 276 

Ship of Faith, The, Anon., • . 382 

Slavery, Cowper, • 159 

Slips 'Twixt Cup and Lip, Owen Meredith, .... 103 

Snow Angel, The, Wallace Bruce, .... 228 

Snow-flakes, . Deronda 232 



CONTENTS, 15 

PAGE. 

Sockery Setting a Hen, Sockery, 308 

Soliloquy of an Old Man, The, . . . C. R. Brooke, 293 

Songs of the Night, R. J. Burdette, .... 266 

Spanish Duel, The, J. I. Waller, 407 

Speech of Cassius, Shakespeare, 161 

Star of the Evening, Florus B. Plimpton, . . 226 

Student, The, Anon., 223 

Sunday Fishin', Harper's Magazine, . . 402 

Theology in the Quarters, . . . . J. A. Macon, ..... 400 

Tommy Taft, H. W. Beecher, .... 417 

Twenty-third Psalm, The, Bible, 176 

Uncle Dan'l, Clemens and Warner, . 370 

Uncle Tom and the Hornets, .... Detroit Free Press, . . 274 

Wainamoinen's Harp-songs, . . • . J. M. Crawford, .... 235 

Ward's Mormon Lecture, Artemus Ward, .... 248 

Ward's Panorama, " " .... 288 

War Inevitable, Patrick Henry, .... 105 

Water Eulogized. Paul Denton, 241 

Water-mill, The, D. C. McCallum, ... 121 

We Shall Know, ; . Anon., 103 

What's Hallowed Ground? Thomas Campbell, . . . 216 

What the Little Girl Said, Boston Globe, 449 

When the Frost is on the Punkin, . James Whitcomb Riley, 429 

Whistle of the Quail, The, Mary S. Paden, .... 312 

Who Kissed Away the Tear ? . . . Detroit Free Press, . . 327 

William Tell, on Freedom, Knowles, 316 

Work, Work Away Virgil A. Pinkley, ... 451 

Wounded Soldier, The, Anon., 420 



Elocution and Oratory. 



INTRODUCTORY REMARKS. 

Oratory is the vocal and visible expression of one's 
own thoughts. Elocution is the vocal and visible expres- 
sion of the thoughts of another. Speech is articulate vocal 
expression. Gesture is visible expression. Good elocution 
or oratory is the art of putting speech and gesture into har- 
mony with the thought to be expressed. 

Both elocution and oratory, therefore, fall legitimately 
and logically within the province of this book. 

The cardinal essentials to good reading and speech are 
breath, body, voice, intellect, and emotion. When breath, 
body, and voice are made subservient to the mind; when 
the mind is made to know what are the demands of thought ; 
when the emotions are in keeping with the character of the 
thought; when all these forces act in harmony with the 
requirements of the thought, — then has the Art of Elocu- 
tion and of Oratory touched its zenith. 

Who will say that this is the work of a day, of a month, 
of a year? Surely graduation is fittingly called Commence- 
ment. 

The highest mission to which these pages can address 
themselves is the furnishing of a vocal and physical equip- 
ment for the purpose of speech, the greatest gift of God 
to man. 

The body must be trained until it becomes the obedient 
servant of the mind, to which end Calisthenics is a funda- 
mental step, with gesture as its culmination. 

2 17 



18 ELOCUTION AND OB A TOR Y. 

The voice must be given purity, fullness, flexibility, 
compass, and projectile power, all of which come under the 
head of Vocal Culture. 

The mind must be capable of fully grasping the mean- 
ing embodied in the thought. Of what avail is a good voice 
and a well-trained body if the miud can not compreliend 
what the voice and body are to express? Intellectual acu- 
men is essential to the broadest success of the reader or 
speaker. Among many subjects, so far as they relate to the 
Art of Delivery, the following may be named : 

Invention — As the art of materializing and crystal- 
lizing thought, and discovering suitable dress in which to 
clothe it. 

Etymology — As one of the greatest of all illuminators 
of the hidden meaning of words. 

Diction — As a training in the pure, precise, and appro- 
priate use of words. 

Logic — In its development of the reason as an aid to 
analysis, and of the judgment as an aid to expression. 

Criticism — As the art of judging impartially of the 
merits of a theme and its delivery. 

History — In its bearing upon the rise and development 
of the science and art of Elocution and Oratory. 

Some will ask, what has mental culture to do with a 
course in elocutionary training? It has much to do with it. 
The intellect is at the very foundation of all good vocal or 
visible expression. If the student thoroughly understand 
the thought, and understand why that thought may be bet- 
ter expressed in one way than in another, his delivery will 
be the outcome of his own intelligence and temperament. 
It is because instructors have neglected the fundamental 
conditions, the understanding of the thought, and of the laws 
which govern its delivery, that so many pupils read and 
speak mechanically. Such defective instruction is, in a 
large degree, accountable for the superficiality, affectation, 



INTROD UCTOR Y liEMARKS. 19 

and exaggeration which abound, to the disgust of the thought- 
ful and the sensible. 

And, finally, back of all these lies yet another essential — 
namely, feeling — without which all is cold and passionless. 
Can emotion be cultivated? one asks. Why not? Its cul- 
tivation involves Ethics, as the art of extracting from words 
tlieir moral and emotional power; it involves Esthetics, in so 
far as it throws about delivery the mantle of the beautiful. 

May the day soon come when the public, fully awake to 
the importance of this subject, wdll frown out of existence 
those elocutionists (?) whose sole stock in trade is a few 
selections they have learned to recite as their teachers re- 
cited before them! 

Should one's delivery be nivtural? Yes, if his natural 
delivery be the best he can command. If a speaker has, 
naturally, a nasal tone, he should be unnatural to the extent 
of ridding himself of that tone. If he is naturally awkward, 
he should get rid of that phase of naturalness. It seems 
natural for some people to be unnatural. 

Shall one speak as he talks? That depends, to some 
extent, on how he talks. If he talks ill, he should not 
speak as he talks. 

In truth, the instructor finds no more gigantean task 
than the bringing of a stiff", angular, distorted, self-conscious 
adult back to his child-like simplicity and self-forgetfulness. 
When an adult has made that return, he has touched the top- 
most round in Art. The author has no higher hope than 
that he may be of some service in driving out affectation, 
exaggeration, superficiality, and in encouraging originality, 
individuality, and independent thought. Noise is not the 
whole of Elocution. A rolling of the eyes, or a writhing of 
the muscles, is not the only outlet of the soul. To say 
"me father," for "my father," is not art; it is flippancy, or 
ignorance. There are those who are ever ready to affirm that 
elocutionary and oratoric excellence of the highest order is 



20 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

the direct outflow of genius. If you ask them what they 
mean by genius, the usual reply is: "That gift wliich enables 
one to accomplish wonders without work." To any such theory 
emphatic exceptions may be taken. No eminent reader, 
no artistic actor, no great orator, in the history of the world, 
has attained his skill without labor. To say that real great- 
ness is the result of idleness, is an insult to reason, and a 
slander upon industry. 

There was a time when the author listened to wonderful 
oratorio flights, with the feeling that they were the sponta- 
neous outbursts of direct inspiration. Since then he has 
learned from the lips of orators that their skill is the out- 
come of the closest attention to details, the result of long- 
continued toil. 

On this subject H. W. Beecher says: 

"But oratory is disregarded largely; and one of the fruits 
of this disregard is, that men fill all the places of power with 
force misdirected; with energy not half so fruitful as it might 
be; with sincerity that knows not how to spread its wings 
and fly. If you were to trace and to analyze the methods 
which prevail in all the departments of society, you would 
find in no other such contempt of culture, and in no other 
such punishment of this contempt. 

"How much squandering there is of the voice! How 
little is there of the advantage that may come from conver- 
sational tones ! How seldom does a man dare to acquit him- 
self with pathos and fervor ! And the men are themselves 
mechanical and methodical in the bad way, who are most 
afraid of the artificial training that is given in the schools, 
and who so often show by the fruit of their labor that the 
want of oratory is the want of education. 

" Conversation itself belongs to oratory. How many men 
there are who are weighty in argument, who have abundant 
resources, and who are almost boundless in their power at 
other times and in other places, but who, when in company 
among their kind, are exceedingly unapt in their methods! 



INTRODUCTORY REMARKS. 21 

Having none of the secret instruments by which the elements 
of nature may be touched; having no skill and no power in 
this direction, they stand as machines before living, sensitive 
men. A man may be as a master before an instrument, 
only the instrument is dead; and he has the living hand, 
and out of that dead instrument what Avondrous harmony 
springs forth at his touch ! And if you can electrify an 
audience by the power of a living man on dead things, how 
much more should that audience be electrified when the 
chords are living and the man is alive, and he knows how 
to touch them with divine inspiration ! 

"I advocate, therefore, in its full extent, and for every 
reason of humanity, of patriotism, and of religion, a more 
thorough culture of oratory. 

''The first work, therefore, is to teach a man's body to 
serve his soul ; and in this work the education of the bodily 
presence is the very first step. What power there is in pos- 
ture and in gesture! By it how many discriminations are 
made; how many smooth things are rolled off; how many 
complex things men are made to comprehend ! 

"Among other things the voice — perhaps the most im- 
portant of all, and the least cultured — should not be for- 
gotten. The human voice is like an orchestra. It ranges 
high up, and can shriek betimes like the scream of an eagle ; 
or it is low as a lion's tone; and at every intermediate point 
is some peculiar quality. It has in it the mother's whisper 
and the father's command. It has in it w^arning and alarm. 
It has in it sweetness. It is full of mirth and full of gayety. 
It glitters, though it is not seen with all its sparkling fancies. 
It ranges high, intermediate, or low, in obedience to the will, 
unconsciously to him who uses it ; and men listen through the 
long hour, wondering that it is so short, and quite unaware 
that they have been bewitched out of their weariness by the 
charm of a voice, not artificial, not prearranged in the man's 
thought, but by assiduous training made to be his highest na- 
ture. Such a voice answers to the soul, and is its beating. 



22 EL C UTION AND OR A TOR Y. 

"'But,' it is said, 'does not the voice come by nature?' 
Yes; but is there anything that comes by nature which 
stays as it comes, if it is worthily liandled? We receive 
one talent that we may make it five; and we receive five 
talents that we may make them ten. There is no one thing 
in man that he has in perfection till he has it by culture. 
We know that in respect to everything but the voice. Is 
not the ear trained to acute hearing? Is not the eye trained 
in science? Do men not school the eye, and make it quick- 
seeing by patient use? Is a man, becjiuse he has learned a 
trade, and was not born with it, thought to be less a man ? 
Because we have made discoveries of science, and adapted 
them to manufacture ; because we have developed knowledge 
by training, are we thought to be unmanly? Shall we, be- 
cause we liave unfolded our powers by the use of ourselves 
for that noblest of purposes, the inspiration and elevation of 
mankind, be less esteemed? Is the school of human train- 
ing to be disdained, when by it we are rendered more useful 
to our fellow-men? 

"If you go from our land to other lands; if you go to 
the land which has been irradiated by parliamentary elo- 
quence; if you go to the people of Great Britain; if you 
go to the great men in ancient times who lived in the intel- 
lect; if you go to the illustrious names that every one re- 
calls, Demosthenes and Cicero, they represent a life of work. 

"You shall not find one great sculptor, nor one great 
architect, nor one great painter, nor one eminent man in 
any department of art, nor one great scholar, nor one great 
statesman, nor one divine of universal gifts, whose greatness, 
if you inquire, you will not find to be the fruit of study, 
and of the evolution that comes from study. 

"To make men patriots, to make men Christians, to 
make men the sons of God, let all the doors of heaven 
be opened, and let God drop down charmed gifts — winged 
imagination, all-perceiving reason, and all-judging reason. 
Whatever there is that can make men wiser and better, 



INTROD UCTORY REM A RKS. 23 

let it descend upon the head of him who has consecrated 
himself to the work of mankind, and who has made himself 
an orator for man's sake and for God's sake." 

On this subject Bishop Simpson thus expresses himself: 

"Should there be schools of elocution, is a question wliich 
sometimes presses on the mind; and I answer, the necessity 
for schools of elocution is founded on the general law of cul- 
ture. God has given us organs which need development; 
there is a law of growth and culture everywhere. 

''But it is said, why not study elocution alone? why not 
cultivate the voice privately? Much may be done by private 
effort, and nothing can succeed w^ithout personal effort; yet 
we learn from others. Our task is lightened by skillful 
teachers, who have met and mastered a hundred difficulties. 
And they can assist us ; they can tell us how these voices 
can be strengthened ; they can tell us how notes can be more 
easily and gracefully enunciated, and they build up a stronger 
human voice, aad give a more graceful and easy utterance. 
Thus the teacher becomes a blessing to the pupil. Time is 
saved, less effort is required, and the results are better for 
the individual and better for society. There are some of us 
always blundering. We need a teacher to guide us; w^e 
need a friend to admonish us, to point out the errors into 
w'hich we fall, and to save us, if possible, from some of those 
errors that so greatly disfigure orations. 

''This age demands elocution. The world is calling to- 
day as it never called before. In ancient times languages 
were many. Pass a few miles, and a different dialect re- 
quired a different address; and men studying dialect were 
unable thoroughly to pursue the study of elocution. But 
mark how times are changed. The ends of the earth are 
brought together, and audiences can come from the remotest 
parts in a few hours ; and wherever there is a man who has 
thoughts to give, and can give them in an attractive man- 
ner, multiplied thousands are ready to dwell upon his lips. 
There is a motive for elocution which there never was 



24 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

before. Our republican government demands it. Monarchies 
discuss but little, despotisms never. But in a republic, men 
must discuss; and what questions are tliere of finance, of 
Church and State, of labor and capital, of slavery, of tem- 
perance, and of reform ! How many questions are pressing 
upon us from all parts of the earth! and these questions 
must be discussed." 



Part I. 



Anatomy, Physiology, and Hygiene 

OF TITE 

Respiratory and Vocal Agents. 



THE NOSE. 



1. Air Chambers. — The nose is supplied with sinuous 
passage-ways which, in cold weather, act as moderators of 
the in-going air. If people would shut their mouths when 
they inhale cold air, there would be a decided decrease in 
the number of deaths from pneumonia. 

2. Filaments. — The nose is furnished with fine fila- 
ments which are designed to protect the lungs from irritants, 
such as flying bits of metal, coal, and dust. The cause of 
inflammation of the lungs can often be traced to open- 
mouth inhalation. 

3. Lachrymal Glands. — The nose is provided with 
lachrymal glands, which furnish moisture for the inhaling 
air, tliat fits it for its introduction to the throat and lungs. 
If speakers would seek relief from aching throats and husky 
voices, they should inhale the air as nature intended, through 
the nose. With such inhalation there Avould be fewer cases 
of catarrh, and fewer throat congestions. 

3 25 



26 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

THE THROAT. 

1. The Uvula. — The uvula is suspended from the rear 
of the roof of the mouth, just in front of the posterior 
nares. By it can be gauged the amount of air one wills 
to exhale through the nose, or through the mouth. If one 
lowers the uvula until egress of air through the mouth 
is impossible, the nasal tone is the result. If one, while suf- 
fering from a cold, would conceal to the uttermost its effect 
upon the voice, he should elevate and retract the uvula until 
the tone must be emitted wholly through the mouth. An 
abnormally long uvula may become a source of irritation to 
the throat, in which case the knife is sometimes resorted to, 
although vocal training, by enlarging and strengthening the 
throat and removing the irritation, often renders surgical 
treatment unnecessary. 

2. The Tonsils. — The tonsils are found one on either 
side of the uvula. They are oval in shape. They, too, 
when abnormally enlarged, become a source of irritation to 
the throat, and an injury to the voice. As a means of their 
reduction the knife is sometimes used. Sometimes they are 
burned. There are few instances in which swollen tonsils 
and throat-irritations will not disappear under proper elocu- 
tionary training. 

3. The Pharynx. — The pharynx is an opening about 
four and a half inches in length, beginning with the pos- 
terior nares, just back of the uvula, and merging below into 
the oesophagus. In shape it somewhat resembles a cone, the 
base being near the root of the tongue, and its apex at its 
junction with the oesophagus. There are seven openings 
connected with the larynx, six of which are concerned in 
vocalization — the two eustachian tubes, the two posterior 
nares, the opening into the mouth, and the opening into the 
larynx, known as the glottis. During the act of swallowing, 
the glottis is protected by a little leaf-like lid, called the 



RESPIRA TORY AND VO CAL A GENTS. 27 

epiglottis. The pharynx is bouDded in front by the 
base of the nose, tongue, and mouth, and the upper 
part of the larynx, and behind by the upper five cervical 
vertebrae. 

4. The Larynx. — The larynx con&ists of cartilages so 
articulated and bound together by membranes as to be ex- 
ceedingly pliant. It is bounded above by the base of the 
tongue and by some of the muscles of the pharynx; behind 
by a portion of the pharynx and the front wall of the 
oesophagus; and below by the trachea. 

The hyoid bone is at the base of the tongue, and consti- 
tutes the upper portion of the larynx. It lies in a horizontal 
plane, and is shaped somewhat like a horseshoe, with the toes 
of the shoe looking backward. 

The thyroid cartilage forms the part known as the 
"Adam's Apple." 

The cj-icoid cartilage has something of the shape of a seal- 
ring, the setting being in the rear. It is narrow in front, 
and rapidly widens from the front backward. It lies in a 
horizontal plane. It is attached to the thyroid in front. 
Behind, it serves as a support for the two arytenoid cartilages, 
which articulate with it in a manner permitting considerable 
rotary movement. The two arytenoids stand upright, and 
near their articulation with the cricoid are found the pos- 
terior attachments of the vocal cords. These cords are at- 
tached to the thyroid cartilage in front. The rotation of the 
arytenoids upon their axes pulls the vocal cords together, en- 
abling their free edges to vibrate as they receive the shock of 
the expiring air. Thus the vocal cords, aided by breath, pro- 
duce sound. A certain number of vibrations of the vocal cords 
per second must be attained before sound becomes audible. 
It is claimed that a well-trained, sensitive ear can distinguish 
sound at fifteen vibrations per second. Vibrations may occur 
so rapidly that sound ceases to be audible, estimated by some 
to be about forty thousand per second. In repose, the male 



28 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

vocal cords are a little more than one-half an inch in length. 
In women they are slightly shorter. Highly tensioned, they 
are almost an inch in length. They are larger in men than 
in women. In inspiration they so separate as somewhat to 
resemble a triangle, the apex being in front and the base in 
the rear, where they are, sometimes, a third of an inch apart. 
In health they are almost pearly white. Irritation of the 
mucous membrane of the larynx causes lionrseness. When 
the irritation becomes chronic, the voice suffers permanent 
derangement, and can not be restored until the ill condition 
of the larynx is corrected. 

When the vocal cords are most lax, the vibrations are 
slowest and the pitch lowest. A depression of the rear of 
the cricoid cartilage, by the downward pressure of the aryte- 
noids, stretches the vocal cords, and it is chiefly to this little 
act that the world is so much indebted for an infinite variety 
of pitch. The longer the vocal cords are by nature, the 
slower the vibrations and the graver the voice. In infancy 
the cords are shortest and the voice highest. In women the 
cords are shorter than in men, and their voices are the higher 
keyed. The length of the cords in men is variable, the 
longest and largest cords producing the deepest bass, the 
shortest and smallest the highest tenor. 



THE TRACHEA AND BRONCHI. 

The trachea is from four to four and one-half inches in 
length, and about three-fourths of an inch in diameter. It 
is flattened behind, where there are no rings, and it serves 
as the frout wall of the cesophngus. Its principal mission is 
to admit air to, and convey it from, the lungs. At its sides 
and in front are circular rings throughout its length. At its 
base it divides into the right and left bronchial tubes. The 
right bronchical tube is shorter, larger, and more horizontal 
than the left. The right is about one inch, and the left about 



RESPIRATORY AND VOCAL AGENTS. 29 

two inches in length. These two divide and subdivide, form- 
ing passage-ways for the air to all parts of the lungs. 



THE THORAX. {™-i£. 

Internal Thorax. 

1. The Heart. — The heart occupies more space in the 
left side than in the right. The right lung, although shorter 
than the left, contains three lobes, and is the heavier by 
about two ounces. The right lung weighs about twenty-two 
ounces. The left lung contains but two lobes, the heart 
taking up almost enough space to be equal to a third lobe. 

2. The Lungs. — Eelatively, the lungs are larger and 
heavier in men than in women, but in shape they are almost 
identical. The circumference of the lungs at the base is 
about twice as great as at the apex. 

External Thorax. 

1. The Sternum. — This body is composed of three 
bones closely knit into one. They are the upper, the mid- 
dle, and the lower. The lower is sometimes called the 
ensiform cartilage. The sternum is from five to seven and 
one-half inches long. It varies in breadth, being broadest 
at the top. It then narrows, again broadens, and again 
begins to grow narrower at its ensiform junction. At its 
top it unites with the clavicle. By means of cartilages it 
has direct communication with seven ribs on each side. The 
eighth, ninth, and tenth ribs on each side articulate, each by 
its cartilage with the cartilage of the rib above. The ster- 
num is longer in man than in woman. 

2. The Ribs. — There are twelve ribs on each side. 
The eleventh and twelfth have no attachments in front, 
which accounts for their being sometimes called floating 
ribs. The first, or upper rib, is but little more than half the 



30 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

length of the second, but is thicker and stronger. These 
two join the sternum more nearly at right angles than do 
any of the others. The ribs, beginning with the first, in- 
crease in length until the seventh is reached, then diminish 
until the twelfth is found to be but little more than half 
the length of the eleventh. This gives the ribs an arch 
forward. Their outward curve arches them laterally, and 
they articulate with that portion of the spine which arches 
backward. 

3. The Costal Cartilages. — Each rib has a cartilage. 
These cartilages, in common with the ribs, grow longer from 
the first to the seventh, and then diminish until the eleventh 
and twelfth amount to no more than simple tips for their 
respective ribs. The first cartilage is shorter, thicker, and 
broader than the others. It is the first to ossify. It ossifies 
earlier in man than in woman. These cartilages are about 
one-sixth the length of their respective ribs. 

4. The Vertebrae. — There are twelve dorsal vertebra?. 
The first, eleventh, and twelfth have a simple articulation with 
their respective ribs. Each of the others serves a compound 
purpose, articulating with the rib above and the rib below^ 
There are seven cervical and five lumbar vertebrae. The 
sacrum and the coccyx, with which the spinal column termi- 
nates, are sometimes classed with the vertebrae. 

5. The Clavicles. — The clavicle on either side artic- 
ulates in front with the sternum and cartilage of the first rib, 
and behind with the scapula, where it is quite movable. In 
front it can move only as the sternum moves. It has a double 
curve, the anterior part being convexed forward, the posterior 
part concaved forward. It is heavier, rougher, and thicker 
in man than in woman. The right one is, usually, larger, 
stronger, and rougher than the left. They are highly elastic. 

6. The Scapulae. — They constitute the back part of 
the shoulders. They are broad, flat bones, articulating with 
the clavicles and humeri, and extending downward behind 
to about the plane of the eighth rib. 



RESPIRATORY AND VOCAL AGENTS. 31 



THE MUSCLES. {g:47-\^°^,-- 



Inspieatoey Muscles. 

1. External Inter costals. — There are eleven of these 
on each side, partly filliug the eleven rib-spaces. They arise 
from the lower edge of the rib above, extending downward 
and forward to their insertion in the upper edge of the rib 
below. Their contraction lifts the ribs, especially in front, 
increasing the thoracic capacity. 

2. Internal Intercostals. — They fill the anterior por- 
tion of the eleven rib-spaces. They arise from the lower 
edge of the rib above, and extend downward and backward 
to their insertion in the upper edge of the rib below. Their 
contraction raises the ribs. 

3. The Scaleni Muscles. — These are three in num- 
ber. The anterior arises from the upper edge of the first 
rib, and is iuserted into the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth 
cervical vertebrae. 

The middle scalenus also arises from the upper surface 
of the first rib, and is iuserted into the second, third, fourth, 
fifth, sixth, and seventh cervical vertebrse. 

The posterior scalenus arises from the outer surface of 
the second rib, and is inserted into the fifth, sixth, and 
seventh cervical vertebrae. Their contraction lifts the ribs 
and induces inhalation. 

4. The Serratus Posticus Superior. — This muscle 
arises from the last cervical, and the first, second, and, some- 
times, third dorsal vertebrae, and is inserted into the upper 
borders of the second, third, fourth, and fifth ribs, just be- 
yond their angles. Their contraction lifts the ribs. 

5. Levatores Costarum. — Takiug their origin from 
the transverse processes of the last cervical, and all the 
dorsal vertebrae, save the last, they attach themselves to the 
upper edges of the posterior parts of the ribs. As they 



32 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

originate from a fixed point, their contraction must lift the 
ribs, thus aiding inhalation. 

Inspiratory and Expiratory. 

6. The Diaphragm. — ^The diaphragm is a large, strong, 
elastic muscle which forms the floor of the thorax and the 
roof of the abdomen. It is attached in front to the eusi- 
form cartilage; at the sides, to the lower six or seven ribs 
and their cartilages; behind, on the right side, to tlie second, 
third, and fourth lumbar vertebrge; and on the left side, to 
the second and third lumbar vertebrse. In expiration the 
diaphragm presents an upward convex surface, whicli fits 
into the concavity at the base of the lungs. In inspiration 
the diaphragm descends. This muscle is mainly inspiratory. 
In its ascent it is principally passive. However, it partici- 
pates actively in expulsive or explosive exhalation. 

Expiratory Muscles. 

1. Triangularis Sterni. — This muscle arises from the 
ensiform cartilage, from the base of the sternum, and from 
the lower costal cartilages. It is attached to the second, 
third, fourth, and fifth ribs. The sternum being compara- 
tively fixed, the contraction of this muscle depresses the ribs 
and aids in expiration. 

2. The Obliquus Externus. — This arises from the 
outer and lower portions of the eight inferior ribs, and is 
inserted into the lower abdomen. Its contraction pulls the 
ribs downward and inward, and, by compressing the abdo- 
men, pushes the diaphragm upward, thus expelling the air. 

3. The Obliquus Internus. — This muscle crosses under 
the obliquus externus much as the internal intercostals cross 
under the external intercostals. Arising from the lower ab- 
domen, and inserting, in part, into the cartilages of the four 
lower ribs on either side, its contraction assists in pulling 
down the ribs, and in compressing the abdomen. 



KESPIBATORY AND VOCAL AGENTS. 33 

4. The Transversalis.— This muscle lies under the 
obliquus interims. It arises, in part, from the inner surface 
of the cartilages of the six lower ribs on either side, and as 
it is inserted, in part, into the lower abdomen, its contraction 
aids in expiration. 

5. The Rectus Abdominus.— Originating from the 
lower abdomen, and inserting into the cartilages of the fifth, 
sixth, and seventh ribs on either side, it assists in pulling 
down the ribs, compressing the abdomen, and pushing up 
the diaphragm. In profound inspiration or expiration other 
muscles are called upon. 



THE ABDOMEN. 



The abdominal contents are pushed down by the descend- 
ing diaphragm in inspiration. If the inspiration be very 
deep, the abdominal viscera are pushed downward and out- 
Avard, until the ribs no longer surround any part of them, 
the liver descending almost three inches. Thus distended, 
these contents possess a strong tendency to return to their 
normal position, thus affording expiratory power. 



Part II. 



Respiration. 



Judicious respiration is essential to good speech. He 
who fails fully to vocalize the vowel sounds is an expiratory 
spendthrift. He who corrupts the sub-vocal sounds by an 
aspirated hissing of them, offends the educated listener, and 
wrongs the English language. He who exaggerates the as- 
pirates, exasperates the cultivated ear. 



INHALATION. 



The Inhalatory Method. —*'And the Lord God 
formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into 
his nostrils the breath of life." As a proof that inhalation 
should be carried on through the nostrils, one needs but to 
sleep an hour with open mouth. When he r.wakes his throat 
will be dry, hot, often painful. 

Shallow, feeble inhalation is another foe to health. There 
are adults who never know what it is to be entirely alive. 
Their hands and feet are always cold. Their inhalations are 
too shallow wholly to aerate the blood. The heart weakens; 
the lower cells of the lungs decay; and, as a sequel, heart- 
disease and consumption carry off an alarming proportion of 
the people. An epidemic of fever, or small-pox, or cholera, 
causes consternation in any community ; but an enemy nearly 
as destructive — an open-mouthed and feeble inhalation — stalks 
among us all the time, none the less fatal that it is so little 
understood. If those who suffer from cold extremities, who 
34 



RESPIRATION. 35 

rarely, if ever, sensibly perspire, knew the peril of their po- 
sition, and knew the value of inspiratory exercises in restor- 
ing the circulation and toning the vital functions, they Avould 
not be slow in seeking relief 

Again, it is not generally known to what extent a full 
Inhalation adds to the carrying power of the voice. With 
lungs almost empty, the voice can have but little vitality, 
and drops lifeless not far from the lips of the speaker or 
singer. It is estimated that in taking an inhalation, such as 
skillful speech or song demands, a resistance of about one 
thousand pounds of power must be overcome. Think of the 
projectile force a thousand pounds of pressure upon the out- 
bound breath will give to the voice ! 

Medical authorities speak of two forms of inhalation, the 
diaphragmatic and the thoracic. The descent of the dia- 
phragm increases the thoracic diameter. The lifting of the 
ribs enlai'ges the thoracic circumference. Regardless of sex, 
the lungs should be allowed perfect liberty to expand in 
every direction. If you wish to see real, genuine, artistic 
inhalation, behold the child, the savage — aye, even an edu- 
cated adult — when asleep! Only among the cultivated and 
refined, whose bodies are inflexibly bound by those delicate 
bands of high-toned torture and untimely death, will you find 
the diaphragm divested of its natural function. It cost four 
years of war, with all its wealth and blood, to free four mill- 
ion slaves. If Ave could capture once the ear, and through 
that citadel the conscience and the sense, we might, Avithout 
the loss of coin or blood, free from bondage the waists of an 
unnumbered multitude. 

The Inhalatory Course. — Entering the nasal pas- 
sages,' the air emerges from the posterior nares into the 
pharynx, through the glottis into the larynx, into the 
trachea, then into the tAvo bronchial tubes, Avhich, dividing 
and subdividing, supply every part of the lungs with air. 

Inhalatory Action. — The nostrils dilate; the epiglottis 
stands erect; the vocal cords separate; the diaphragm 



36 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

descends, enlarging the waist, and pressing the abdomen 
downward and outAvard; the ribs move forward, upward, 
sideward, backward; and the lungs expand in every direction. 

Inhalatory Exercises. 

1. Dorsal Expansion. — AVith the thumbs fixed at the 
sides, spread the fingers backward upon the dorsal muscles. 
Take six quick, rapidly succeeding inhalations, producing 
the greatest possible outward pressure of tlie dorsal muscles 
against the fingers. 

2. Costal Expansion. — With the thumbs placed be- 
hind on the dorsal muscles, spread the fingers at the sides. 
Inhale six times, as in No. 1, taking care that there shall 
be a decided outward action of the costal muscles against 
the fingers. 

3. Abdominal Expansion. — Fix the thumbs at the 
sides, and spread the fingers forward over the abdomen. 
Inhale six times as above. If properly done, a marked 
outward expansion will be observed. 

4. Waist Expansion. — This is a grouping of the pre- 
ceding three into a single exercise, and, instead of being 
tested by touch, should be tested by measurement. Tightly 
and inflexibly laced, the waist can not expand ; but when 
properly dressed, the expansion will reach, at first, an average 
of an inch, which can be tripled by three months daily drill. 

5. Chest Expansion. — Test this exercise, too, by 
measurement. An expansion of two inches is a good be- 
ginning. It does not require long practice to be able to 
expand four inches. 

6. Prolonged Inaudible Inhalation. — Inhale as 
slowly as possible, letting the air escape the moment the 
lungs can receive no more. To keep the lungs on a straij, 
by trying to retain the imprisoned air after the lungs are 
completely full, can do no good, and may do much harm. 
Students rarely reach ten seconds at their first effort at pro- 
longed inhalation. They rarely fall short of sixty seconds at 



RESPIRATION. 37 

the close of one year's course in elocution. Many suc- 
ceed in reaching ninety seconds. We have found, without 
exception, that those whose respiration is the feeblest, are 
those who have the smallest, weakest voices. The muscles 
of the waist and chest are given tone and strength by prac- 
tice upon these exercises, while the voice uniformly improves 
in force and fullness. Discontinue the effort of prolonging 
the inhalation, for the time being at least, if faintness is 
felt, and be especially careful if a fluttering or SD:;othering 
sensation is felt about the heart. He who escapes such feel- 
ing may conclude that his heart is strong. If a smothering 
sensation is felt on attempting to prolong the inhalation, stop 
instantly, and try again another time, and so continue until 
the heart affection is entirely removed. If a twinge of pain 
is felt in either lung, be certain there is danger there. Of 
this, too, you may rest assured — that taking long, deep 
draughts of fresh air into the lungs will restore them, if 
restoration is possible. Pure air is a divinely prepared rem- 
edy for pulmonary ills. No medicine that man can mix will 
so surely counteract the inroads of disease upon the lungs. 

There are times, in song and speech, when the inha- 
lations must be taken quickly. To do so inaudibly and 
almost invisibly requires great skill. There come times 
when dramatic art requires an upheaval of the shoulders in 
inhalation. Except as occasion demands, never permit the 
shoulders to rise perceptibly. It is said that a great artist 
never gets out of breath. He may, in personating intense 
anguish, or some consuming passion, appear to be exhausted, 
but in reality his breath is wholly at his command. 



EXHALATION. 



It is estimated that the expiratory is one-third greater 
than the inspiratory power. Besides the actions of the 
muscles which aid expiration, the fully inflated lungs exert 



38 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

about one lumdred pounds of elastic anxiety to return to 
their normal size, while the pressure of the outer air upon 
the external thorax amounts to nearly seven hundred and 
fifty pounds. The costal cartilages, tired of their stretch, 
display a two-hundred-pound desire to return to their state 
of repose. The flattened diaphragm exerts an upward press- 
ure of about one hundred pounds to return to its normal 
arch. Thus we see the expiratory muscles receive not far 
from one thousand pounds of involuntary aid in expelling 
the air from the lungs. Dr. Hutchinson found in one man 
an expiratory power of twenty-two hundred pounds. He 
claims that men of about five feet eight inches in height 
possess the greatest average inspiratory and expiratory power. 

EXHALATORY EXERCISES. 

1. Inaudibly Prolonged. — AVith a quick inhalation 
through the nostrils, completely fill the lungs; then slightly 
separate the lips, and exhale the air as slowly and steadily 
as possible. Time the exercise. Pupils, at their first efforts, 
do not average more than eight seconds. A daily practice 
of a few minutes will, in a short time, enable one to exhale 
for a minute, continuously, without discomfort. 

2. Audibly Prolonged. — This exercise differs from 
No. 1, in that it requires the giving out of the air with 
sufficient force to make it distinctly audible. Many pupils 
are unable to carry this exhalation longer than five seconds 
on their first attempt, while the same pupils frequently 
make a record of thirty seconds before their first quarter has 
closed. 

3. Expulsive Exhalation. — Placing the hands suc- 
cessively on the dorsal, costal, and abdominal muscles, expel 
the air with a sudden shock, prolonging it by a brief vanish. 
Expel the letter h in the same way. Give the exercise three 
times in rapid succession, with the hands in each of the 
positions named. 



RESPIRATION. .39 

4. Explosive Exhalation. — Follow the directions 
given for No. 3, omitting the vanish. Instead of the letter 
h, the letter h may be used. Those who are afflicted with 
diseased or delicate throats will find Nos. 3 and 4 a hazard- 
ous drill, unless directed by a skilled instructor. To gain 
command of these exercises is to take a decided stride in 
the direction of artistic speech and song. 



COMPOUND MOVEMKNTS. 

There are some acts which include both inhalation and 
exhalation, and which, although accompanied by sound, do 
not come under the head of speech, and may be mentioned 
in this connection. 

1. Sighing. — This act is the result of a quick, audible 
exhalation, preceded by a deep, long-drawn inhalation. 

2. Yawning. — A yawn is a magnified sigh, accompanied 
by a decided dropping of the lower jaw, and, usually, by an 
uplifting of the shoulders. 

3. Hiccoughing. — This is caused by a convulsive con- 
traction of the diaphragm ; a sudden in-rush of air, and a 
closure of the glottis, against which the out-bound breath 
is hurled. 

4. Sobbing. — Sobbing resembles No. 3 in its action, the 
glottis closing earlier in the inspiration, allowing but little, 
if any, air to enter the lungs. 

5. Coughing. — In this act the glottis closes itself firmly 
against the expiratory air, until the pressure becomes so great 
that it is violently opened by the outburst of breath. 

6. Sneezing. — This differs little in its action from No. 5, 
the expelled air escaping through the nose, instead of througli 
the mouth. 

7. Panting. — In panting, the inhalations and exhalations 
are deep, short, and labored. 



40 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

8. Laughing. — In laughter, each inspiration is followed 
by a series of interrupted explosive exhalations; glottis wide 
open, and vocal cords in violent vibration. 

9. Weeping. — Although the product of emotions the 
reverse of those which produce laughter, yet in its move- 
ments weeping closely resembles laughing. 



RESPIRATORY VOI.UMES. 

1. The Residual Air. — After one has expelled all the 
air possible, there remains in the lungs a considerable vol- 
ume, which, according to the estimates of various authorities, 
averages about one hundred cubic inches. 

2. The Tidal Air. — This is the amount which is re- 
ceived and displaced at each respiration. In a state of 
moderate activity, twenty-five cubic inches may be considered 
an average estimate of the amount of tidal air. 

3. Complemental Air, — The amount that can be in- 
haled above the tidal air is called complemental air. It is 
evident that this volume must be greatly governed by physi- 
ological circumstances. Under normal conditions the com- 
plemental air is placed at about one hundred cubic inches. 

4. Supplemental Air. — After an ordinary or tidal ex- 
halation, there remains in the lungs a reserve fund, which 
may be drawn upon for extraordinary occasions. As in 
No. 3, so here the amount depends upon the physical state, 
being greatest in repose, and least under great exertion or 
exhaustion; the extremes being estimated from seventy to 
one hundred and seventy cubic inches. The normal amount 
is about one hundred cubic inches. 

5. Vital Capacity. — The vital capacity is the amount 
of air it is possible to exhale from the lungs after the fullest 
inhalation. At the height of five feet eight inches, condi- 
tion normal, the vital capacity is about two hundred and 
twenty-five cubic inches. 



RESPIRATION. 41 

GENERAL SUGGESTIONS AND CAUTIONS. 

To Teachers. 

As a rule, teachers do not know to what extent then- 
daily exhaustion is due to a waste of breath. Place near 
your lips a slip of tissue paper, and then utter, with force, 
any vowel sound. If the paper does not move, your breath 
is wholly vocalized. If it flies from your lips, it will pay 
you to learn the lesson of breath-economy. 

To THE Clergy. 

Ministers, if you knew how largely this expiratory de- 
fect is responsible for your "Monday morning prostration," 
you would not be slow to seek relief. "Clergyman's sore 
throat," in a large majority of cases, is caused by the shock 
of outgoing un vocalized breath against the tender tissues of 
a tightly congested throat. When that is the cause, medicine 
can not cure it. Right respiratory and vocal methods will 
be effective. 

To Lawyers. 

The essentials to an attorney's success are body, brains, 
breath. How many attorneys have failed when they should 
have been in their prime, because of mismanagement of 
breath! "Why does my throat burn and ache, and my 
voice grow husky, before I have spoken thirty minutes?" at- 
torneys often ask. The answer is, because you inhale through 
the mouth; inhale too little breath, and waste a part of that 
as you speak. It is in the power of well-used vocal organs 
to labor, unimpaired, for many successive hours. Indeed, 
well ordered speech is one of the most exhilarating and 
wholesome of exercises. We repeat that many of the ills 
incident to teaching, preaching, and pleading, are directly 
traceable to faulty respiration. 

The experience of Talma, the famous actor, will illus- 
trate and emphasize the value of respiratory skill. He 

4 



42 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

heard Dorival perform in a heavy dramatic role, and 
noticed that he looked as fresli at its close as at its be- 
ginning. Amazed, he said : "Dorival, I am strong; you 
are slight. With such an effort as you made to-day, 1 
should be utterly exhausted. Tell me how you save your 
strength?" Dorival playfully replied that his friend was 
in need of no advice from him. Talma would not be thus 
denied, and on one occasion secreted himself where he could 
closely watch his rival's performance. He soon observed 
that Dorival always kept his lungs well supplied with 
air, never allowing them to approach an exhausted con- 
dition; and, it is said. Talma rushed from the theater ex- 
claiming: "I have found it!" Dorival was master of his 
breath. That was his secret. 

Waist Compression. 

While it is true that, by nature, women have greater 
action of the upper chest in respiration than men, it is 
equally true that, for health and best of vocal results, they 
must not deaden the diaphragm by ribs of bone or steel, or 
by constriction of the waist in any form. Prima donnas 
know this secret, and make free use of the muscles of the 
waist in scoring their vocal triumphs. Lacking this free- 
dom of the Avaist, the breath will come in gasps; the chest 
will violently heave, the shoulders will jerk unseemly, and 
will rise and fall to extremes. If the lungs are not allowed 
to expand at the base, they will find room at the top, and 
the shoulders are raised. Would that we could write in 
letters of light so large that all the Avorld could read: ^'Do 
not lace the waist! Give the lungs room!" 



Part III, 



Simple Physical Culture, 

OR 

CALISTHENICS. 



There are many who argue that if one feels what he 
says, his gestures will always be appropriate. They mis- 
take. Feeling, as a guide, is as unsafe as it is uncer- 
tain. One may be honest and awkward. Sincerity and 
stiffness have been known to go together. One may mean 
w^ell and act ill. 

Calisthenic exercises are an admirable preparation for 
gesture. ^Yith as much reason might one expect, with un- 
trained fingers, to touch the proper keys, in the proper order, 
with the proper force, producing exquisite music, as to ex- 
pect to be able with untrained muscles to clothe speech in 
fitting action. When the body is put under complete control, 
then, and not before, is it in condition faithfully to respond 
to all calls of intelligence or emotion. 

It is the aim of calisthenics to give the greatest freedom 
and mobility to the joints and muscles of the body. Prac- 
tice in calisthenics heightens health, secures symmetry and 
strength, produces pliability and poise, and gives grace to 
attitude and action. 
43 



44 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 



CAI^ISTHKNIC COURSE. 

Foe the substance of what is presented under this liead, 
credit should be given to instructors, to daily experience and 
observation, and to books. It is in some such way thnt all 
information comes. It would be vain to attempt to give 
acknowledgment in all cases; but, in this connection, the 
reader is referred to a most admirable work by Oscar Gutt- 
man on "Esthetic Physical Culture," and to Professor Shoe- 
maker's well-named "Practical Elocution." 

CALISTHENIC EXERCISES. 

Finger Movements. 

Position : Arms extended horizontally to the front ; hands 
open and prone. Move the fingers up and down, slowly at 
first, gradually quickening the movement. Repeat the exer- 
cise with the hands facing each other; with the backs toward 
each other; with the hands supine. Repeat the same exer- 
cise with the arms extended obliquely in the horizontal plane; 
laterally in the horizontal plane. 

Wrist Movements. 

Practice the same order of movements as in the preced- 
ing exercise, the action proceeding from the wrist-joints. 
Rotate the hand from right to left, and reverse, steadily 
increasing the rate of movement. 

Fore- Arm Movements. 

With the elbow-joint as the center of action proceed as in 
the foregoing exercise. Rotate the fore-arm from right to 
left, and reverse, as in the preceding exercise. 

Full-Arm Movements. 

Transferring the pivot of action to the shoulder-joints, 
follow the foregoing order. Rotate tlie full-arm from right 



CALISTHEXICS. 45 

to left, and reverse, faster and faster. Swing the right arm 
from back to front in a side-ellipse. Make the ellipse ap- 
proach the circle as nearly as possible. Reverse the move- 
ment. Conduct the same exercise with the ellipse in front. 
Same order of movements Avith the left arm. Same with 
both arms. 

In all the calisthenic exercises which remain, count thus: 
One and, two and, three and, foiir and, five and, six and, 
seven and, eight and, repeating the strain as often as neces- 
sary. Instrumental music will add much to the precision 
and enjoyment of these exercises. 

Head Movexexts. 

Position: Arms hanging loosely at the sides; shoulders 
level ; body erect ; face to the front. Turn the head as far 
as you can to the right without moying the body; return ; 
in the same way to the left ; return ; repeat. Drop the head 
as nearly as you can to ihe right shoulder ; return ; same 
to the left; return; repeat. Drop the head to the breast 
as nearly as you can ; return ; dro^^ the head backward as 
far as you can ; return ; repeat. Right, erect ; back, erect ; 
left, erect; front, erect. 

Aem Movements. 

First Fore-arm Leadership. — Position: Hands clinched, on 
the chest near the shoulder ; body erect ; shoulders level ; 
heels together. Thrust the clinched right hand downward at 
the side uinil it rests against the thigh; return; repeat. 
Left hand through the same movement. Right hand down. 
As the right returns, thrust the left down. As the left 
returns, thrust the right down. Return the right. Thrust 
them both down ; return ; repeat. 

Do not permit the body to be pulled out of the perpendic- 
ular, nor the shoulders to lose their level, during this drill. 

Second Fore-arm Leadership. — Repeat tlie first exercise, 
making the movements sidewise in tlie horizontal phiue. 



46 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

Do not permit the body to sway from side to side in this 
exercise. 

Third Fore-arm Leadership. — Repeat the first exercise, 
making the movements directly upward. Do not, in this 
exercise, pull the body out of plumb. Hold each shoulder, 
when not at work, in its proper position. 

Fourth Fore-arm Leadership). — Repeat the first exercise, 
striking to the front. In the forward stroke do not allow 
the corresponding shoulder to be drawn forward, nor the 
opposite shoulder to be drawn backward, nor the body to 
be pulled out of position. 

Fifth Fore-arm Leadership. — Position: Finger-tips resting 
on the shoulders; arms akimbo; heels together; body erect; 
shoulders level. With the shoulder as a starting-point, re- 
produce exercises one and four inclusive. 

Sixth Fore-arm Leadership. — Position as in the first exer- 
cise. Thrust the right arm down ; return ; thrust the right 
arm directly upward ; return ; repeat. Same movements with 
the left arm. Thrust the right hand down and the left up, 
simultaneously; return both simultaneously; reverse; re- 
turn; repeat. Both down; return; both up; return; repeat. 

Seventh Fore-arm Leadership. — With the position as in the 
fifth exercise, repeat the movements of the sixth exercise. 

Eighth Fore-arm Leadership. — Position: Fingers in the 
arm-pits ; arms akimbo. Thrust- the right hand down at 
the right side ; return ; repeat. Same movements with the 
left. Right down ; right back and left down simultaneously. 
Right down as the left returns; return the right. Both down ; 
both back ; repeat. Do not lower the shoulder as you strike 
down, nor should the opposite shoulder be jerked upward. 

Ninth Fore-arm Leadership. — Position: Hands clinched 
and on the chest. Thrust both hands downward, forward, 
upward, returning to starting point. Repeat the circuit 
seven times. Do not bend the body forward with the for- 
ward stroke, nor backward with the upward stroke. 

Ihith Fore-arm Leadership. — Repeat the ninth exercise, 



CALISTHENICS. 47 

moving the hands downward, sideward, upward, and back 
to starting point. 

Eleventh Fore-arm Leadership. — Kepeat the ninth exercise, 
starting from the shoulders. 

Twelfth Fore-arm Leadership. — Eepeat the tenth exercise, 
starting from the shoulders. 

Thiiieenth Fore-arm Leadership. — Position: Hands clinched 
on chest ; face to the front. Strike obliquely backward, with 
the right arm in the horizontal plane, turning the body to 
the right, and opening the hand with the stroke ; return ; 
strike with the right arm obliquely to the left ; return ; 
repeat. Obliquely backward Avith the left arm ; return ; 
obliquely to the right with the left arm ; return ; repeat. 
Obliquely to the right with both arms; return; obliquely 
to the left with both arms ; return ; repeat. Both arms 
twice obliquely to the right wdth returns. Both arms ob- 
liquely twice to the left with returns. 

First Rigid Full-arm Exercise. — Position: Fingers inter- 
laced in front. Lift the arms forward and upward ; return ; 
repeat seven times. Stand erect during the exercise. 

Second Rigid Full-arm Exercise. — Same as the preceding, 
except that the hands are to be behind. 

Third Rigid Full-arm Exercise. — Position : Hands clinched, 
arms extended laterally and horizontally. Eaise rigid right 
arm directly upward to a vertical position ; return ; lower 
it to the body; return; repeat. Same with the left arm. 
Lift right arm up and put the left arm down simultaneously ; 
return; right down and left up simultaneously; return; 
repeat. Both down ; return ; both up ; return ; repeat. 

Fourth Rigid Full-arm Exercise. — Repeat the preceding 
exercise, making the movements to the front. 

Fifth Rigid Full-arm Exercise. — Position: Hands with 
palms resting against the thighs. Raise the rigid right arm 
sideward and upward into a vertical position; return; repeat. 
Same with left arm. Right up ; right down and left up, simul- 
taneously; reverse; right return ; both up; return; repeat. 



48 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

Sixth Rigid Full-arm Exercise. — Same order as in the pre- 
ceding exercise, making the movements to the front. 

Seventh Rigid Fidl-arm Exercise. — Position : Arms hori- 
zontal ; front ; hands open ; pahns together. Throw the 
arms backward in the horizontal plane, bringing the backs 
of the hands into contact behind ; return ; repeat seven 
times. Very few will succeed in this without long con- 
tinued practice. 

Eighth Rigid Full-arm Exercise. — With tlie backs of hands 
together in front, strike with palms backward in the hori- 
zontal plane. No one, perhaps, succeeds in bringing the 
palms together behind in this exercise. 

Shoulder Movements. 

First Shoulder Exercise. — Position : Arms hanging at the 
sides; body erect. Lower the right shoulder; return; lift 
the right shoulder ; return ; repeat. Same with the left 
shoulder. As the right shoulder drops, lift the left 
shoulder; return; reverse; repeat. Drop both; return; lift 
both ; return ; repeat. Keep the body in the perpendicular. 

Second Shoulder Exercise. — Position as before. Thrust 
right shoulder forward ; return ; thrust right shoulder back- 
ward ; return ; repeat. Same with the left shoulder. As 
the right goes forward, thrust the left one back; return; 
reverse ; repeat. Both forward ; return ; both backward ; 
return ; repeat. 

Trunk Movements. 

Position : Body erect ; arms hanging at the sides. Turn 
to the right without moving the feet ; return ; turn to the 
left ; return ; repeat. Bend the body to the right side ; 
return ; bend the body to the left side ; return ; repeat. 
Bend the body forward ; return ; backward ; return ; repeat. 
Bend to the left; return; backward; return; to the right; 
return ; to the front ; return. 

By this exercise the muscles, upon which the voice 



CALISTHENICS. 49 

almost solely depends for its propelling power, are given 
an admirable drill. With feeble muscles of the trunk, one 
can not cast the voice very far. This exercise gives the 
muscles strength. 

Movements of the Lower Limbs. 

Position : Arras hanging at the sides ; hands open. Lift 
the body until the weight rests upon the toes, at the same 
time thrusting the arms vertically upward ; return. Without 
permitting the knees to project, bend the body forward, touch- 
ing the floor with the finger-tips ; return ; repeat three times. 

Very few will be able, at first, to touch the floor with 
the fingers without relaxing the knees. Insist on the rigid- 
ity of the knees. 

5 



Part IV. 



Visible Expression, 

OK 

GESTURE. 



Gesture is visible expreBsi()ii. It consists in action and 
attitude. It appeals to the eye. ]Motion is the most usual 
manifestatiou of gesture, yet there are times when an attitude 
is profoundly impressive, and expre&sive. Attitude may be 
defined as action arrested, motion congealed. A monument, 
though mute and motionless, may enforce many a moral. 
Napoleon at 8t. Helena, hat in hand, eye fixed upon the 
boundless sea, lips silent and compressed, body a« motionless 
as marble, speaks volumes to an admiring world. 

Good gesture makes melody for the eye, as good modula- 
tion makes melody for the ear. To be truthful, gesture must 
be in harmony with the thought. The hand of a miser 
does not illustrate generosity. A corrugated brow is not in- 
<Ucative of joy. In the impersonation of character, the per- 
former should see that it is not his own individuality to 
^vhich he gives expression. In all cases, the surroundings, 
the circumstances, the sense, must be the guide to gesture. 

There are many idolaters of the ** divine afflatus" theory, 
who contend that gesture can be founded on no law; that it 
can not be learned; that it bubbles out of the being; that 
it is essentially an inspiration. There is a bit of tnith in 
this claim. Spontaneity Is a good thing if it springs from a 
50 



GESTUHi:. 51 

weltoaiioed bodr. One who, by cidtnre and by custom, tm- 
cousciou^It acts well, may with safety trust to impulse. No 
one else can alR>rv! to do it. Instinct does not teach a pilot 
how to guide a K>at. No one would trust his life with 
such a pilot. One might just as reasonably ask him to know 
where lie the shoals, the sands, the snags, the eddies, without 
study and observation, as to ask artistic action of one who 
is ignorant or indolent. 

There are laws upon which gesture is founded, and by 
which a course of instruction may be S}-stematically con- 
ducted. As space will not permit an exhaustive treatment of 
this subject, an endea\-v>r will be made to employ only rep- 
resentative terms, such as are most suggestive, and best 
calculated to lead the student into a more thorough line of 
thought. Moreover, in the analysis of action, of attitude, 
facial expression, and of the \-arious agents of each, space 
permits but a simple statement of the cardinal divisions. 

ACTION. 

I I~SlMPASSIOCSEI»> 

Acu<.'n is, comparatively speakmsr, ^ iMFAssiojfEi>. 

Action should K^ always in harmony with the thought. 
In quiet moods it should be unimpassioned. 

Heroism, valor, decidveness, and kindred emotions, call 
for imj>as^oned action. 

Fury, treniy. vehemence, and their kind, require action 
of a highly impassioned character. 

Require the pupil to read or recite lines wiiicii rcviuire 
these types of action. 

ATTrrrDE. 

Attitude may be considereil as ] ^^S&,.TAcrI^'s. 

In the expression of weakness, weariness, carelessness, and 
like ctuulitions, the passive pc>sition is employed. 

The attitude is active in aggression, defiance, dominance, 
and in kindred ^liua^s. 



52 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

An intensely active attitude is adapted to feelings of fury, 
revenge, and all highly dramatic situations. 

Kequire the pupil to illustrate the attitudes by quoting 
from authors, or by his own composition. 

CENTER OF MOTION. 

rWRIST, 

Arm movements center at the i Elbow, 

(Shoulder. 

Gestures of a conversational nature pass through but a 
limited area of action, and, when of a very quiet, simple 
style, center at the wrist. Ask the pupil to illustrate. 

If the conversation take a lively, animated turn, the cen- 
ter of motion transfers itself to the elbow, and the gestures 
cover a more extended area. Illustrate. 

Gestures of an oratoric, heroic, exalted, dignified, majestic, 
tragic, or dramatic character, call for yet broader action, and 
the center of motion is found at the shoulder. Illustrate. 

With the thought given, require the pupil to state what 
position, what facial expression, and what center of action, 
would be required. Give any one of the four conditions 
to find the other three. 

MISSION OF GESTURE. 

The mission of gesture is threefold. It sometimes pre- 
cedes, sometimes accompanies, and sometimes follows the 
spoken words. Its principal mission is to act as a fore- 
runner and illuminator. By a flash of the eye, a twitch of 
the mouth, a toss of the head, a turn of the hand — by any 
one of an infinite number of gestures, the mind of the list- 
ener may be prepared for the words that follow. 

Whether gesture shall precede, accompany, or follow, de- 
pends entirely upon the nature of the thought that demands 
the gesture. If there is a series of gestures caHed for by a 
series of thoughts, the action must partake of the nature of 
the thought; quickening as it quickens; intensifying as it 
intensifies; culminating as it culminates. 



GESTURE. 53 

Not unfrequently gesture waits until speech has wrought 
its work upon the ear, when like a flash it follows, empha- 
sizing the same thought by presenting it to the eye. 

Give examples requiring anticipative action, accompany- 
ing action, subsequential action. 

LINES. 
The lines in which gestures are made are {curv?d!^' 
Self-defense takes a straight line; so does impetuosity, 
ferocity. The curve-like flourish is employed in serener, 
more aesthetic moments. 

r Preparation, 

The parts of a simple gesture are i Execution, 

^ x- o (^Return. 

Sometimes the preparation passes through a limited space ; 
sometimes through space more extended. Sometimes the prep- 
aration is made swiftly ; sometimes more deliberately. Some- 
times the preparation is made in silence; sometimes with 
words. The area through which it shall pass, its rate of mo- 
tion, at what moment it shall occur, and how long continue, 
all depend upon the thought to be expressed. Do not begin 
the preparation prematurely, nor tardily. Once begun, carry 
it through to its consummation. Nothing looks more ludi- 
crous than to see an arm start out as if to gesticulate, and 
then fall back as with paralysis. 

The consummation should be in harmony with the prepa- 
ration ; deliberate if it is deliberate, swift if it is swift. 

The return should be in keeping with the body of the 
gesture, the distance through which it must travel being 
entirely dependent upon the point at which the execution 
terminates. Give illustrations. 

DIRECTIONS. 

{Front, 
Backward-oblique. 

The gesture to the front is one of especial directness and 
emphasis. The pugilist strikes to the front, even if he must 



54 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

turn arouud to do it. Give illustrations of gestures to the 
front. 

We begin to generalize with the front-oblique direction, 
lu this direction we show parts of a great whole. In recit- 
ing the words "charging an array, while all the world won- 
dered!" to carry the arras entirely to the sides on the words 
' ' charging an array " would be manifestly illogical. The world 
is broader than an army, and requires greater breadth of 
action. Give examples of gestures to the front-oblique. 

The lateral direction should be used in showing greatest 
breadth, fullness, completeness. 

In the following, "Through thy corn-fields green, and 
sunny vines, O pleasant land of France!" the action grad- 
ually broadens until the culmination is reached on the words, 
"O pleasant land." Give other illustrations. 

The oblique-backward gesture is suggestive of remoteness, 
indistinctness, indifference, disgust. Illustrate. 

ZONES. 

rUPWARD, OR vSpiritual; 

The zones of e^esture are \ middle, or intellectual ; 

° (^Downward, or Physical. 

These three zones have several distinctive characteristics. 

Fird. We may say, in a general way, that descending 
gestures belong to the realm of determination ; horizontal 
gestures to the realm of reason; ascending gestures to the 
realm of imagination. 

Second. Meanness of every type should be expressed by 
descending gestures; m.orality, by horizontal gestures; spirit- 
uality, by ascending gestures. 

Third. All objects, real or imaginary, lying beneath us, 
require descending gestures; on a plane with us, horizontal 
gestures; above us, ascending gestures. 

Fourth. We may speak of the upper zone, as the torrid ; 
the middle, as the temperate; the lower, as the frigid zone. 

For love, warmth, purity, lightness, brightness, gleeful- 



GESTURE. 55 

ness, aud all that is ennobling or spiritualizing, the ascend- 
ing gestures are suited. 

For calmness, simplicity, and unimpassioned speech in 
general, horizontal action is adapted. 

In giving expression to incision, decision, dogmatism, deg- 
radation, destruction, malevolence, and all forms of brutality, 
or bestiality, gestures should take the descending direction. 

Require the pupil to recite, with appropriate gesture, ex- 
amples calling for movements in the zones named. 

THE HEAD. 

The head is to be held in a normal position in the expres- 
sion of composure, contentment, trustfulness, and the like. 

The head is bowed forward in submission, embarrass- 
ment, contemplation, timidity, melancholy, and in kindred 
feelings. 

The head is turned to the side with averted face in dis- 
gust, horror, and evasion. 

The head is thrown back in defiance, haughtiness, and 
egotism. 

The head held high or erect is indicative of dignity, in- 
dependence, and self-reliance. 

A rocking of the head to and fro is employed in assent, 
consent, conviction, and in like feelings. 

A movement of the head from side to side is suggestive 
of pomposity, presumption, voluptuousness, aud vanity. 

A rotary action of the head is an index of dissatisfaction, 
disagreement, senility, and idiocy. 

Do not keep the head in perpetual motion. An occasional 
movement may be made very effective. Unless the circum- 
stances require it, the head should not be drawn toward, nor 
react from, a gesture of the arm. 

THE BROWS. 
An elevation of the brows is an expression of surprise, 
inquisitiveness, superciliousness, and haughtiness. 



56 ELOCUTION ^AND ORATORY, 

The brows are depressed in laoguor, sorrow, listlessness, 
and remorse. 

The brows are contracted in pain, suspicion, impatience, 
and in similar mental conditions. 

When the eyebrows are normal, the forehead is smooth. 
When the eyebrows are elevated, the forehead is relaxed, 
and lies in horizontal folds. When the eyebrows are de- 
pressed, the forehead is in a state of tension. 

When the eyebrows are contracted, the forehead is con- 
tracted, and lies in perpendicular folds. Constant smiling 
creates horizontal lines, and constant frowning creates per- 
pendicular lines in the forehead. Avoid a continual wrink- 
ling of the forehead, or an over-use of the eyebrows. 

What feelings other than those already mentioned require 
an elevation of the brows? A depression of the brows? A 
contraction of the brows? Give illustrations both from au- 
thors and from your own composition. 

THE EYES. 

The eyes are well open in amazement, expectation, and 
exultation. 

They are partly closed in the expression of discourage- 
ment, debility, debasement, and of similar sentiments. 

The eyes have an eccentric expression in courage, resist- 
ance, aggression, and in hostility. 

The eyes have a concentric look in soliloquy, abstraction, 
introspection, and the like. 

The eyes are averted in shame, disgust, fear, and aver- 
sion. Give examples. 

The eye is the indicator of thought. In the eye gesture 
has its birth, just as in the larynx voice originates. Like 
the lightning's flash, which springs from the cloud and illu- 
minates the earth, so thought radiates from the eye, and 
reflects the soul within. While with the voice one may utter 
but one language, and that imperfectly, with the eye o.ne 
may speak intelligibly in all languages, to all peoples. The 



GESTURE. 57 

eye, then, being a factor of paramount importance, its cor- 
rect use is surely worthy of cultivation. Have you not heard 
a speaker whose eyes seemed never to behold his audience; 
who looked in one favorite upper corner of the hall, or in 
both upper corners alternately, or above your heads, or below 
your eyes, anywhere rather than into your faces? This is 
bad, and should not be tolerated. When you read or speak, 
look at your listeners, unless your are impersonating some 
character that does not admit of it. 

THE NOSTRILS. 

The nostrils are dilated in the expression of indignation, 
contemptuousness, malevolence, and like sentiments. 

In the expression of pain, avarice, anxiety, and distress 
the nostrils are contracted. 

An elevation of the tip of the nose is suggestive of ridi- 
cule, contempt, bigotry, and prejudice. 

THE MOUTH. 

The corners of the mouth are lifted in anticipation, satis- 
faction, mirthfulness, and kindred feelings. 

The corners of the mouth are depressed in the expression 
of scorn, grief, and hatred. 

- The degree to which the corners of the lips should be 
lifted, or lowered, should be in proportion to the intensity 
of the emotion that inspires the action. 

THE LIPS. 

The lips are compressed in the portrayal of determination, 
defiance, distress, and agony. 

They are puffed or projected as an index of disgust, sen- 
suality, petulance, and sullenness. 

The upper lip is lifted in derision, menace, haughtiness, 
and contempt. 

The lower lip droops as an exponent of verdancy, imbe- 
cility, insanity, and the like. 



58 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

A protuberance of the lower lip is suggestive of vul- 
garity, brutality, and selfishness. 

A shorteniug and receding of the lower lip would be em- 
ployed in depicting indecision, efieminacy, and superficiality. 

THE CHEEKS. 

The cheeks are puffed or eccentric in merriment, and in 
the impersonation of contented, self-satisfied, phlegmatic con- 
ditions. 

Tlie cheeks are compressed or concentric in terror, re- 
morse, suspense, and pain. 

THE CHIN. 

Cunning, curiosity, and incisiveness are the language of 
a projected, pointed chin. 

Sternness, stability, and valor are better represented by 
a square or broadened chin. 

Liberality, geniality, and frankness are indicated by the 
round, full chin. 

A rapidly receding chin is suggestive of timidity, vacil- 
lation, and mental weakness. 

THE FINGERS. 
The fingers in position are found { together. 

Fright, disgust, detestation, all emotions expressive of 
unfriendliness or lack of companionship, tend to separate 
the fingers. 

Sorrow, sympathy, communion, whatever is attractive or 
congenial, has a tendency to bring the fingers into close com- 
panionship. Give examples. 

{Normal, 
Rigid, 
Relaxed. 

They are rigid in horror, repulsion, vituperation; and re- 
laxed in melancholy, resignation, and docility. 



GESTURE. 59 

The index-finger is made serviceable in locating, limiting, 
illustrating, and in emphasizing. 

In the use of the index-finger, if you wish to emphasize a 
thought, or specify a thing, be sure to straighten it. Noth- 
ing can look weaker or more ridiculous than an angular index- 
finger, shaking its crooked self in the belief that it is giving 
pith, power, incisiveness, to some statement. 

Guttman speaks of the third finger as the wishing-finger, 
and says it plays a prominent part in the hand of greed. 
He calls the fourth, or little finger, the feeling finger, say- 
ing that if we would scratch the chin or rub the eye, we 
should use the little finger. The little finger may be used 
for the purpose of belittlement, tautilization, and scornful- 
ness. The same may be expressed by the throwing back 
and pointing of the thumb. 

The fingers may be interlocked as a rest, or recreation, 
or for the sake of variety, and in the expression of anguish, 
despair, and remorse. Give exam.ples. 

THE HANDS 
The positions of the hands may be desiornated as \ supine, 

^ J n (^Vertical. 

The prone position is used to express compression, depres- 
sion, oppression, suppression, destruction, degradation, and 
the like. 

We use the prone hand for a placing upon, whether it be 
a fact, a principle, a blessing, or an object, real or imaginary. 
The prone hand, in one sense, is the hand of limitation, an 
illustration of Avhich will be given later. 

The supine position is the one employed in giving expres- 
sion to frankness, friendliness, and benevolence. The supine 
hand removes all limitation, and is expressive of infinitude. 
In illustrating the tossing of the waves of the sea one could 
not wisely employ the supine position of the hand, as the 
waves are borne to a limited height. To attempt to waft a 



60 ELOCUTION AND OR A TOR Y. 

spirit to the heavens by the use of the prone position of the 
hand is quite as injudicious. 

With the vertical position of the hand we may attract, 
or repel; warn, or adore. 

The hand is open in candor, invitation, and persuasion. 
We generalize with the open hand. 

The hand is closed in avariciousness and exclusiveness. 
It is clinched in anger, revenge, and resolution. 

Delight, approval, a desire to attract attention, and the 
like, find fit expression in a clapping of the hands. 

Self-content, appreciation, and pleasurable anticipation, 
may rub the hands together, one upon the other. 

The hands are often wrung as an expression of torture 
of mind or body. Give examples illustrative of the various 
positions and conditions of the hand. 

Caution. — If you mean to use the open hand, open it. 
Do not cramp it, nor throw it into unseemly angles. 

WHEN TO USE THE LEFT, WHEN THE RIGHT HAND. 

We are often asked, how can we know when to use the 
left, when the right, when both ? Many seem to think that 
the left hand is given man as an ornament, and not to use 
in gesture. With such persons, this hand has more of a 
paralytic than an ornamental look. Action to the left side 
should usually be made with the left arm, and it should be 
under as complete control as the right. There are very few 
occasions that would draw the right arm across the breast in 
a struggle to cover the left field of action. There are some 
acts which custom calls upon the right hand uniformly 
to perform ; among them, salutation, hand-shaking, and 
taking the oath. 

Both hands are in demand when the area of action is too 
broad to be compassed by one, or when the force to be em- 
ployed is too great to be accomplished by one, or in response 
to any sentiment or situation suggestive of the use of both. 



GESTURE. 61 



THE ARMS. 



The movements of the arm are many, intricate, and com- 
plex. There is no agent of the body more difficult to man- 
age gracefully than the arm ; none that so frequently mars the 
effect of speech or song by its angularity and awkwardness. 

Every teacher should give his pupils special drill in the 
movements of the arms. Their preparation for gesture may 
be brought about by the following preliminary exercises. 

Silent-arm Exercises. — Move the right arm through 
all the planes, in all the directions, with all the positions of 
the hand; same with the left arm; same with both arms. 
This furnishes the arms with one hundred and eight dis- 
tinct movements, and the transformation they will work in 
the action of a pupil is surprising. After this silent subju- 
gation of the joints and muscles, the instructor may ask the 
pupils to produce language that requires these various move- 
ments, and to fit them to the words. 

Cuts, and labelings, and figurings, and directions, at this 
stage of the study of gesture, are of little value unless the 
teacher is present to explain and exemplify. 

Of the many purposes of the movements of the arm, some 
of the more prominent are, location, illustration, limitation, 
generalization, and emphasis. 

A single gesture may serve a compound purpose. For 
example, in delivering the words, "On yonder jutting cliff," 
the movement of the arm led by the index-finger may ex- 
press limitation, location, illustration, and emphasis. The 
index-finger limits the number to a single peak. If there 
are thousands of them, the open hand would be required. 
The index-finger points out or locates the peak. 

The whole arm and index-finger, in the forward thrust, 
is an illustration of the "jutting peak." The force with 
which the movement should be made imparts the emphasis. 

In the statement, "O'ertaken by the furious mountain 
blast, I've laid me flat along," the words "I've laid me flat 



62 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

along" require some visible as well as vocal expression. A 
gesture of illustration is necessary. To say "laid me flat 
along" with the supine hand, would be palpably improper, 
as in such a crisis a man would not lie on his back. 

The instructor should require his pupils to give other 
illustrations exemplifying the various purposes of the move- 
ments of the arm. 

A good illustration of the full-arm flight of gesture, and 
its culmination, in harmony with the vocal flight and culmi- 
nation, is found in the following: "Or as our peaks, that 
wear their caps of snow, in very presence of the regal sun." 
If the pupil were asked to what zone this compound gesture 
belonged, he would see in an instant why it must belong to 
the ascending. If asked what condition of the hand is re- 
quired, he might not feel so sure. This is an admirable 
mode of awakening self-investigation and self-reliance in the 
minds of pupils. For the first clause, "Or as our peaks," 
the open hand is demanded. "Peaks" can not be indicated 
by one finger. " Caps of snow" employs the same condition 
with an upward movement. "In very presence," still higher 
movement. "Of the regal sun" calls for the index-finger 
only, and brings the gesture to its climax at the moment 
the pitch of the voice reaches its highest point. 

THE SHOULDERS. 

The shoulders are normal in repose. They are thrown 
back in independence, bravado, and pomposity. They are 
drawn upward or shrugged in skepticism and insinuation. 
Such a statement as, "What are you to do about it? I 
have no fear of you," could be made by a shrug of the 
shoulders, without the use of a single word. 

Languor, debility, dejection, surrender, shame, and similar 
feelings, cause the shoulders to fall forward or droop. 

Caution. — Do not jerk nor shrug the shoulders unless 
occasion demands. A continued and meaningless twitching 



GESTURE. 63 

of the shoulders is very distasteful to the average observer. 
Give illustrations of the shoulder movements. 

THE CHKST. 

In the representation of such feelings as resistance, arro- 
gance, and bravado, the chest assumes the eccentric form. 

In the impersonation of sickness, weakness, decrepitude, 
fear, and exhaustion, the chest becomes concentric. The 
chest of the gladiator is eccentric; of the coward, concentric. 
The eccentric chest suggests activity ; the concentric, pas- 
sivity. Give illustrations. 

THE TRUNK. 

The body is thrown backward in the delivery of such 
feelings as those of defense, defiance, bombast, and pride. 
The pupils may be required to enlarge the list of emotions 
which employ this position. 

Secrecy, curiosity, anticipation, and the like, incline the 
body forward. 

A rotary movement of the trunk is suited to the ex- 
pression of verdancy, coquetry, and embarrassment. 

A movement to and fro, or from side to side, is a sign 
of woe, despair, and insanity. 

A manly bearing, a military bearing, a courageous bear- 
ing, all carry the body erect. 

The body is rigid in revenge, wrath, and in all types of 
vehemence. 

Sorrow, soliloquy, surrender, and the like, relax the body. 
Recite such words as will illustrate the various movements 
and attitudes of the trunk. 

Caution. — ^Unless the sense demands it, avoid, by all 
means, a monotonous movement of the body to and fro, or 
from side to side, or in a rotary way. When not in harmony 
with the thought, such motions are extremely ungainly, and 
exceedingly trying to the nerves of the beholder. 



64 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

THE FBBT. 
There is no easier or more graceful position of the feet 
than at an angle of from forty to sixty degrees, the heel of 
the advanced foot about two inches from the hollow of the 
retired foot. To denote a military precision the feet ap- 
proach the right angle. In buffoonery, or burlesque, or in 
the impersonation of extreme awkwardness, the feet may be 
placed in a parallel position. A swaggering, or intoxicated, 
or ruffianly beariug, plants the feet widely apart. 

THE FEET AS WEIGHT-BEARERS. 
In the bearing of the weight the feet are put in five dis- 
tinctive positions, namely: 

1. Right foot advanced, bearing the burden of the weight. 

2. Right foot retired, bearing the burden of the weight. 

3. Left foot advanced, bearing the burden of the weight. 

4. Left foot retired, bearing the burden of the weight. 

5. The two feet sharing the weight. 

Give examples illustrative of the feet-positions. Which 
shall be advanced is, as a rule, a question of comfort. How- 
ever, there are laAvs which determine whether the advanced 
foot shall bear the excess of weight, or whether the principal 
portion of the weight shall be put upon the retired foot. 
Salutation, sympathy, affinity, and kindred feelings, throw 
the greater weight upon the advanced foot; while dread, 
fright, and all forms of repulsion, assign more weight to the 
retired foot. Stolidity, stability, and sturdiness, place upon 
the feet, approximately, an equal amount of weight. 

THE KNEES. 
The protruding of the knees is a sign of slothfulness, ver- 
dancy, sycophancy, and servility, and is seen often in bur- 
lesque. The knees are held firmly back in place, in feelings 
of rage, resentment, and malice. In kneeling, if the side is 
toward the audience, and but one knee is to touch the floor, 
that knee should be the one nearest the audience. 



GESTURE, 65 



THE IvEGS. 

The legs should be rigid in all impassioned or dramatic 
situations. They should be relaxed in the expression of 
feebleness, exhaustion, melancholy, and soliloquy. Illustrate. 

Caution. — Avoid standing in such a manner as to make 
one leg eclipse the other. Such a position gives one the ap- 
pearance of standing on a very narrow base, and makes his 
figure look unsym metrical. As all who recite, or speak, or 
act, are required at times to take steps in presence of the 
public eye, a few suggestions in that connection will not be 
amiss. 

Steps of delight, pleasant anticipation, exhilaration, and 
the like, are quick and elastic. Daintiness, undue nicety, 
vanity, and mock-modesty move with mincing steps. Stealth, 
suspicion, and treachery glide noiselessly on their mission. 
Imbecility, incapacity, indolency, self-abandonment, are sym- 
bolized in a slow and shuffling gait. Doubt, reluctance, re- 
pugnance, approach their object, if at all, with faltering step. 
Indignation, infuriation, and aggression employ steps which 
are firm and swift. The steps of dignity, deliberation, and 
ponderosity are slow and steady. The swaggering step is 
the delight of the clown. It is put into frequent use by the 
caricaturist, and is admirably suited to either top-heaviness 
or top -emptiness. 

SPECIAL GESTURES, SUGGESTIONS, AND CAUTIONS. 

There are countless numbers and varieties of gesture 
which come under no specific law. These may be known as 
special gestures. To give an impression of the breadth 
of the field they cover, attention is called to a few that 
are common to the hand. The palm of one hand is alter- 
nately run over the back of the other in quick succession to 
express pleasure in the contemplation of a subject, in its 
cheerful presentation, in gladly accepting its truth, in creat- 

6 



66 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

iog warmtli of siibject, or warmth of hands when cold. The 
fingers are thrust between each other and quickly separated, 
the movement being rapidly repeated in childish glee, and 
in the impersonation of child-simplicity. The fingers are 
run through the hair, or beat a tattoo, or nervously clutch 
at something, or nothing, as circumstances may dictate. The 
hand may go to the heart, or the head, or the side, in the 
expression of whatever calls for such action. 

Handling of the Handkerchief. — The public reader, 
especially if a man, should use care in his management of 
this article. To be constantly fumbling it, to move it from 
hand to hand, from pocket to pocket, to tuck it away about 
a stand where he can not find it, gives him a nervous and 
effeminate air. 

"Suit the action to the word." — This is a bit of 
advice that will live as long as law. To have a calm or 
passive face in the expression of impassioned thought, is not 
logical. Good gesture simply holds the mirror up to nature. 
All people of intelligence must indorse the study of gesture, 
so defined. To speak the words, " Ten feet they measure from 
tip to tip," with an up-and-down movement of the arm, places 
the flying-machine of Darius Green in quite an awkward 
position. Since they are buckled tightly upon the youth, 
where would Darius be at such a moment? Saying, " With 
paddle or fin or pinion, we soon or late shall navigate," with 
a series of up-and-down strokes of the hands, is not holding 
the mirror up to nature. For pinions the gesture is a good 
one so far as the vertical portion of the flight is concerned. 
" For Darius was sly, and whenever at wof^lie happened to 
spy at chink or crevice a blinking eye, he let the dipper of 
water fly." To make the gesture with open hand would be 
to put Darius to a great many needless steps, as each time he 
lets the *' water fly " in that way, he must go after the thrown 
away dipper. Such a gesture shows lack of logic. To 
have the tip of the thumb against the forehead, and the 
hand shading the eyes, when you speak of "Mabel flatten- 



GESTURE. 67 

iug licr face agaiost the window-pane," is a thoughtless, irra- 
tional gesture. 

A youth in a Pliilaclelphia school of Elocution, Avhose 
egotism exceeded his wisdom, criticised a classmate by say- 
ing she should have indicated the upward flight of the bird 
thus: and he made a beautiful compound flourish of the 
supine hand upward and outward. Picture the poor bird's 
predicament, flying feet upward into iufiuite space ! 

"O'erstep not the Modesty of Nature." — In writ- 
ing with a 2:)encil, do not put the tip of it in your mouth. 
Do not continually toy Avitli a watch-guard. It is indicative 
of abstraction, indiflerence, or nervousness. Keep the hands 
out of the pockets. The fingers should not pick at the cloth- 
ing or buttons. Fingers clasped, with one thumb revolving 
around the other, is a gesture that one need not covet. A 
disposition to stick the little finger straight out from the 
others, is not an enviable one. Avoid standing with either 
hand on the hip, or with either hip drooping. Do not culti- 
vate a mustache in presence of an audience. In imper- 
sonating the act of lifting, the gesture must depend upon the 
character of the object to be lifted. To lift some objects, the 
hand is placed beneath. Other objects are grasped from 
above by the fingers. If one were exhibiting an imaginary 
canary, it would show little thought in him to use the latter 
gesture. Be logical. Be consistent. 

If in a public performance pouring must be done, let it 
proceed with propriety. Do not make a farce of it by seeming 
to pour from a single small pitcher more than you could pour 
from a three-gallon pail. Do not pour with an unreasonable 
precipitancy. Do not lift a glass containing imaginary drink, 
and in a single gulp accomplish the impossible. Be consistent. 
If you are to impersonate the character of an aged man, 
remember that old age makes fewer and slower gestures than 
youth. Remember, also, that old men are as unlike as young 
men, and the mastery of one old-man character is not the 
mastery of all old age. For another old man you would need 



68 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

another voice and another manner. If you are imperson- 
ating a part in a play, do not mar the character by lapsing 
into yourself, even for a moment, while in presence of the 
audience. Many forget this, while being addressed, or upon 
leaving the stage. In writing, some ply the tongue so vigor- 
ously that they suggest the question, which is miglitier, the 
tongue or the pen? In the personation of letter-writing, 
another inconsistency occurs, viz. : the penning of a full- 
page letter in less time than a single line would require a 
lightning-like folding without the use of a blotter, and 
directing of the letter by pitching the pen at the envelope. 
Be logical. Be consistent. 

In the impersonation of letter-reading, or the reading of 
any message, take at least time enough to make a reasonable 
suggestion of its perusal. 

Poise is power. There are some who seem to think that 
repose is no part of gesture, no part of Elocution. Experi- 
ence demonstrates that nothing so magnetizes an audience as 
the manifestation of great force issuing from a comparatively 
quiet source, with an appearance of almost limitless strength 
in reserve. Speakers sometimes weep in such a way as to 
make listeners laugh. If one would move others to tears, 
he should, as a rule, restrain his own. Thinking that he is 
with intensity picturing the purest pathos or the deepest 
despair, the speaker is shocked by seeing smiles on the faces 
of those who listen. Those who so repay him are, as a rule, 
ill-bred. However, the speaker should hold himself largely 
responsible for his uncivil reception. It is usually the out- 
come of his own inartistic methods. 

You will see the whole arm, and sometimes the entire 
body, thrown into violent commotion in the efforts to give 
expression to an idea, for which the movement of a single 
finger would be adequate. The throwing back of the body 
is not essential to the lifting of an arm. The arm may move 
independently of the body, ancP^hould in the majority of 
cases. Sympathy is a proper thing, but it can exist without 



GESTURE. 69 

awkwardness. In the preparation for seating one's self, a 
sweeping separation of the coat-tails is as uncouth as it is 
unnecessary. In falling, the law of self-preservation may 
assert itself by first relaxing the lower limbs, and then by 
causing the arms to strike the floor slightly in advance of 
the body. In arranging pupils for public exhibition, the 
director should see that they group themselves in curves, 
whether they stand or sit. 

In dialogue, the one listening should so place himself 
that the speaker may give at least three-quarters of his face 
to the audience. A vast amount of indistinctness would be 
avoided by observing this simple direction. The performer 
of a minor part should not try to outshine the star. A sub- 
ordinate should approach his superior, and not wait for his 
superior to take extra steps to reach him. 

The pupil is warned against the common fault of making 
too many gestures. The young, especially, are prone to 
overact. Above all things do not impose upon the imagina- 
tion of the listener. 

A public reader in Philadelphia, in impersonating a stab- 
bing scene, fell to the floor presumably dead. There was no 
merciful curtain to drop upon the scene. Imagine the 
impression made upon the audience when the slain man 
arose to his feet ! 

A lady reader of renowm, in reciting ** Curfew Shall Not 
Ring To-night," would have the audience believe (judging 
from the gestures she makes) that she herself was hanging to 
the rope and swinging out, far out over the city; but the 
imagination of the average listener rebels against any such 
representation. The reader must not let his emotion run 
riot with his reason. O'erstep not the modesty of nature. 
He who thinks least, who cares least for logic, who values 
truth least, is he who is most prone to "tear a passion to 
tatters;" to substitute roar for reason, sound for sense. The 
''applause of the groundlings" is slight remuneration for a 
sacrifice so great. 



Part V. 



Phonetics 



Phonetics is the science of sounds, separately considered. 
As a prelude to proper pronunciation the study of phonetics 
is of prime importance. Not long since the author read a 
statement, that not one-tenth of those who are graduated 
from our educational institutions can give correctly the 
simple sounds of the English language. It, doubtless, could 
be made stronger and still be within the bounds of truth. 
Until orthoepists agree as to how many simple sounds there 
are in the English language, it will not be easy for any one 
to know that he can give them all correctly. By some or- 
thoepists, a simple sound is defined as being one that is made 
by a single position of the vocal organs. There is no sound 
in our language that can be made in that way. Motion is 
essential to sound. A simple sound is a single sound. 
There are forty simple sounds in the English language. 
To know how to give them as they should be given is 
as essential to good pronunciation as a knowledge of the 
twenty-six letters of the alphabet is to correct spelling. 
Nevertheless, phonetics is so shamefully neglected in our 
educational system, that there are but few speakers who pro- 
nounce well. There are a few sounds which, easy enough 
to give in connection with other sounds, are difficult to give 
alone. They are the sounds of /i, h, p, t, w, and y. AVhen 
sounded separately they are almost unavoidably followed by 
a vanish, which in h, k, p, and t, sounds like some wliisj^ered 
70 



PHONETICS. 71 

vowel ; in w and y, like some vocalized vowel. The harsh 
sounds of our language are the aspirates. Foreigners com- 
plain of the English language as being unmusical. The 
language is not so much at fault as its speakers. The sound 
of d, is a sub- vocal, and yet one seldom hears it so uttered. 
Instead of diul, one hears dndt The word hig has in it but 
three sounds, hicj, not high; large is Idrj, not Idrjeh; has is hdz^ 
not hdzs. With a custom, so nearly universal, of ibrciug 
upon the ear almost double the number of aspirates the 
words actually contain, it is a matter of no amazement that 
people exclaim: "How sadly your language is lackhig in 
melody!" A correct enunciation of the sounds not only 
spares our language much reproach, but gives to one's pro- 
nunciation a neatness and accuracy that can be insured in no 
other way. Until one knows what short e is, and learns to 
appreciate it at its full value, he is in danger of saying 
blessid for blessed; ashiis for ashes. Thousands of similar mis- 
takes he will make. 

An honest endeavor has been made to put the following 
phonetic system in its simplest and most lucid form. 



Lesson I. 

DIACRITIC MARKS AND THEIR SIGNIFICANCE. 

The Macron (-) indicates that the sound of the vowel 
above which it is found is long. 

The Breve (^•) shows that the sound of the vowel above 
which it is found is short. 

The Tilde (-) shows that the sound of the vowel over 
which it is placed is that of tilde e. 

The Dieresis (••) shows that the sound of the vowel over 
which it is placed is that of the Italian a long. 

The Semi-dieresis (•) shows that the sound of the vowel 
over which it is found is that of short Italian a. 



72 



ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 



The Caret (a) indicates, when it is found above o or u. 
that the sound is broad ; when found above a, that it has its 
long flat sound. 



Lesson II. 

SIMPLE SOUNDS. 











TONICS. 








1. 


Long a, 




as ii 


pale. 


9. Short i, 


as in it. 


2. 


Long fia 


t a, 




pair. 


10. Lon 


g o, 


(( 


ore. 


3. 


Long Iti 


lian a, 




piirt. 


11. Short o, 


(( 


ox. 


4. 


Short Italian a, 




past. 


12. Broad o, 


(( 


for. 


5. 


Short a, 






hand. 


13. Lon 


^-double 


o, " 


food. 


6. 


Long e, 






raete. 


14. Shoi 


t-double 


0, '' 


good 


7. 


Short e, 






met. 


15. Shoi 


•tu, 


(( 


lip. 


8. 


Tilde e, 






earn. 


16. Broad u, 


(( 


tirn. 










SUB-TONICS. 








1. 


b, as in 


bay. 


6. 


m, as in my. 


11. V, 


as in 


vie. 


2. 


d, " 


day. 


7. 


n, 


*' in. 


12. w, 


<( 


we. 


3. 


g, " 


g'-iy- 


8. 


D» 


'' ink. 


13. y, 


li 


yes. 


4. 


j. " 


.jay. 


9. 


r, 


* ' rye. 


14. z, 


it 


zest. 


5. 


1, " 


lay. 


10. 


tir, 


" thy. 


15. zh, 


a 


usury 










ATONICS. 








1. 


ch, as in 


chin. 


4. 


k, as 


in kin. 


7. sh, 


as in 


shy. 


2. 


f, '' 


fin. 


5. 


P. 


" pin. 


8. t, 


(( 


try. 


3. 


h, - 


him. 


6. 


s, 


*' sin. 


9. th, 


(( 


pith. 



The only sub-tonics that need any given name are Nos. 
8 and 10. The former is under-line n, the latter is sub- 
tonic th. But one (No. 9) of the aspirates requires any 
given name; it may be called atoiiic th. 



PHONETICS. 73 

IvKSSON III. 

COMPOUND SOUNDS. 

Long i, composed of a and i, as in ice. 

Long u, '* " e *' 6b, " use. 

oi, '* " 6 " i, '' oil. 

ou, ** ** a " 00, " out. 

From the analysis of these four proper diplitlion^s, it 
will be seen that their introduction adds no new sounds to 
our language. They draw their material from the list of 
simple sounds. 

The macron is used to denote how many sounds? The 
breve? The tilde? The dieresis? The semi-dieresis ? The 
caret? Does Webster use any other diacritical mark? For 
what sounds does Webster use markiugs other than the ones 
we have given ? Tell what they are. What is an improper 
diphthong ? Phonetically speaking, an improper diphthong 
is but a simple sound. For what sounds do Webster and 
Worcester use different markings? 



Lesson IV. 

NEEDLESS DISTINCTIONS. 

1. There is no need of hard and soft c, since there is no 
such thing as c, phonetically. In the word cent, c has the 
sound of s; in the word card, the sound of h; in the word 
sacrifice, c, in the last syllable, has the sound of z. 

2. AVhat orthoepists call hard ch is but the sound of h. 

3. Soft g is not g, but j. Hard g is g, nothing more. 

4. What is styled soft s is not s; it is the z sound. 

5. Worcester marks oi and ou diacritically. This is un- 
necessary. There is but one oi, and but one ou, and they 
should go uumarked. 



74 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

Inconsistencees. 

Webster makes the mistake of using the symbol p for 
both s and z. 

Worcester would have us believe that the initial sound 
in oi and of ou is the same. 

In the following phonetic study we shall call sounds by 
their right names. If we hear /, we shall say j. 



Lesson V. 



LONG FI.AT A, SHORT A, SHORT ITALIAN A, SHORT O, 
BROAD O, LONG ITALIAN A. 

The flattest sound in our language is long flat a. Short 
a differs from long flat a more in quantity than in quality. 
Short Italian a is shorter in quality than long Italiati a. It 
is also a little less open in its mechanism. 

Short resembles long Italian a very much in sound, but 
it is much the shorter in quantity. 

Broad o has a quality quite distinct from those already 
named. 

Long flat a is always followed by r. 

Phonetic Ills. 

1. Long flat a is sounded by many almost as if it were 
long a. Pear is 'pdr, not 'par. 

2. Short a is immutably, constitutionally, unconditionally 
short. So are all short sounds. To prolong any one of them 
is a phonetic error. Their beauty is their brevity. Take 
from them their dash, and the drawl remains. Hat is hat, 
not hd et, nor hd ut, nor hat Short a suffers special mistreat- 
ment when found in unaccented syllables. 

Formal is formal, not formel, nor formil, nor formul. 

3. By the masses short Italian a is miserably mangled. 



PHONETICS. 75 

The student should be drilled upon it until he can produce 
it with perfect precision. To pronounce the a in flash as 
broadly as the a hi father, sounds pedantic; while to sound it 
as short as a in 7nat, sounds unscholarly. 

Pupils should prepare an exhaustive list of words contain- 
ing short Italian a. Give twenty monosyllables containing 
it; twenty dissyllables; twenty proper names; twenty geo- 
graphical names. 

4. Long Italian a, one of the most beautiful of sounds, 
is by many sadly marred. The words hlith, path, laugh,, 
mint, can't, shan't, laundry, may be cited as a few of the 
serious sufferers. 

Prepare a list of words containing this sound. Drill upon 
it until you can pronounce the words correctly. 

5. Short has its perils. To say fox for fox, is to strand 
on Scylla; while to say foux, is to strand on Charybdis. Sail 
between. 

There is no such thing as a dog, much less ddug. The 
golden mean is dog. Short o is often banished unjustly. 
Do not say meVn for melon. In unaccented syllables short o 
is a frequent victim, as in sciun for scion. 

6. Broad o also suffers. If it could feel, how it would 
writhe on hearing rot for ivrought; tot for taught] cot for 
caught! There would come an extra twinge of pain when 
sat is said for sought! 

A list of words containing broad o should be written and 
mastered. God is not Gaivd, although the ignorant and 
superstitious so pronounce it. 

Phonetic Spelling. 

Observe the following order in all phonetic spelling: 

1. Pronounce the word. 

2. Give the sounds separately. 

3. Pronounce the word. 

4. Name the sounds separately. 

5. Pronounce the word. 



76 



ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 



Spell Phonetically. 



Stand, 


e'er. 


balk, 


trough, 


piquant, 


plaid, 


eyre, 


clause, 


ought. 


Aaron, 


fare, 


balm, 


naught. 


wasp. 


prayer. 


fair. 


daunt. 


awful, 


watch, 


knowledge, 


there, 


hearth. 


George, 


flog, 


sergeant. 


wear, 


guard. 


stork. 


hough. 


extraordinary, 


heir. 


grass. 


broad^ 


water. 


authorities. 



In the preceding list what equivalents are found for short 
a, short Italian a, long Italian a, long flat a, short o, broad of 
Do you know of any other? Does ua stand for short a in 
any word other than piquantf Is there any in which ey stands 
for long flat a other than in eyref 

One can ofttimes locate the State from which a speaker 
comes by his use of long Italian a. Beginning in the east, 
where it is heard in all its breadth and beauty, it gradually 
dwindles away as it proceeds westward until, long before 
it reaches the Mississippi River, it becomes a lank, sickly, 
long flat a. 



I^ESSON VI. 



SHORT E, TILDE £, SHORT U, BROAD [/, R. 

In this, as in the preceding group of sounds, there is a 
close phonetic resemblance. As to the mechanism of the 
sounds, the student will find the mirror more valuable than 
any description that can be put in print. Learn exactly 
what each sound is; practice until each can be accurately 
produced, and then consult the mirror to see how each is 
made. 

Phonetic Ills. 

1. Short e suflTers most at the tongue of the irrepressible 
drawler. The drawler says sent for set. It suffers but little 
less when found in unaccented syllables. Ashes is not aslius ; 



PHONETICS. 77 

children is not ckildrun, nor cMldrm. Sot for set is a luxury 
very few can now afford. 

2. The greatest foe of tilde e is broad ii. As a usurper 
broad ii is not surpassed by any other sound. Earn is not 
urn; serge is not sitrge. There are some things custom can 
not do. Wrong is wrong, and custom can not make wrong 
right. It is wrong to pronounce fir as fur, custom to the 
contrary notwithstanding. 

3. One of the most marked characteristics of the perfect 
short u is its shortness. In the drawler's speech it is most 
noted for its lack of shortness. Dust is not duiist. Dost is 
often mispronounced. 

Short 0, for short u, is a relic of barbarism not often met 
to-day. There are few localities in the United States where 
on for im is the rule ; as onhwiun for iinhioivn. 

4. Broad u is sometimes given the sound of tilde e, but 
is less mispronounced than other vowel sounds. 

5. As a phonetic sufferer the sound of r takes high rank. 
Why r should be sounded in the word raw, and omitted in 
the word ivar, deserves an explanation. Ah is no more the 
terminal sound of loar than it is the initial sound of raw. 
There are those who appear to pronounce on the principle 
that r is not r, unless initial, or if r is r in any other posi- 
tion, it is inelegant to let it be heard. Thus they heah with 
their eahs, when they should hear with their ears. Again, 
there are those who make r do double, triple, quadruple 
duty. Such people never ramble, they r-r-r-ramble. Their 
rats are all hydra-headed r-r-r-r-r-r-ats. Never trill an r un- 
less the sense demands it. There are other speakers who 
introduce some spurious sound before or after r; thus errain 
for rain ; farii for far. 

6. Du and tu unaccented, as in verdure and furniture, 
offer considerable difficulties. The effort to sound initial u, 
as in use, immediately after the sound of d or t, without 
making an intervening s, has led to general corruption in 
the pronunciation of this class of words. 



78 



ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 



Spell Phonetically. 



Many, 


gW, 


says, 


doth. 


Wednesday, 


heifer. 


gallows. 


foetid. 


world. 


verge. 


earl. 


again. 


myrtle, 


tread. 


tough, 


scirrhus, 


friend, 


scirrhous, 


guess. 


iron. 


aesthetic. 


guerrilla, 


bent. 


flood. 


children, 


jeopardy. 


flung. 


burial. 


journal, 


picture. 



What equivalents in this lesson do you find for short e, 
tilde e, short u, broad uf Have they other equivalents? 
Prepare a full list of words containing the five sounds 
which are the subject of this lesson. Of these lists what 
words have you heard mispronounced? In Avhat way? 
Pronounce them correctly. Has r any equivalents? How 
have you heard the word idea mispronounced? Name other 
words likewise mispronounced. 



Lesson VII. 



I.ONG A, LONG E, SHORT /, Y. 

Phonetic Ills. 

t. The sin which most besets long a is its tendency to 
end in the sound of long e. The drawler is never happier 
than when saying fdel for fail. There is a foppish pronun- 
ciation which gives to long a a sound somewhat resembling 
long flat a; thus, /dee for face. 

2. Long e, too, is troubled by a tendency to spurious 
vanishes ; for example, meil or meul, for meal. 

3. Short i is beset with a similar tendency. Thus one 
hears /let, ox fWt, for fit. 

Short i, as an unaccented syllable, or in an unaccented 
syllable, suffers various indignities. Short i has a beautiful 
sound, not a beautefid, nor a beautiful sound. Divinity is not 
devinuty, nov devinety, nor devinute; it \s divinitl. 

4. The sound ot y bears a striking phonetic resemblance 



PHONETICS. 



79 



to long e and short i. Pronounce eet, wt, yet The three 
combinations sound almost as one. The loss of ^ would not 
be a serious one, phonetically, to our language. 

Spell Phonetically. 



Fate, 


weight. 


sieve, 


fountain. 


tortoise. 


stain, 


whey. 


yet, 


Thursday, 


sovereign, 


straight, 


gaol, 


union, 


England, 


machine, 


gauge. 


theme, 


pleiads, 


surfeit, 


reprieve, 


stay, 


sheaf. 


^sop, 


volley. 


champaign, 


aye, 


greet, 


people, 


victuals, 


champagne. 


fete, 


key, 


deceive. 


women, 


aitch-bone. 


break, 


quay, 


foetal, 


busy, 


guayaquil, 


vein, 


been, 


melee. 


folly, 


hallelujah. 


deign, 


mint, 


bouquet, 


guilty. 


vicinity. 



What equivalents in this list for long a, long e, short i, 
for yf Have they any other equivalents? Give some 
word, other than the one given in the lesson, containing each 
equivalent. 

Is there any word beside gaol in which ao is equivalent to 
long a f any beside q^iay in which uay equals long e f 

Prepare a list containing the sounds of which this lesson 
treats, showing how they are often mispronounced ; pronounc- 
ing them correctly. 



Lesson VIII. 



LONG O, LONG DOUBLE O, SHORT DOUBLE O, W. 

The drawler finds long o an easy victim. To say moddr, 
or moer for more, is a joy he can not forego. Oou, or good 
for go, is his delight. Its usurpation by broad o is another 
of its ills. Board is not bawrd, nor haiverd, nor haicurd. To 
say baicd for board, is a depth of phonetic degradation painful 
to contemplate. 

Long double o is not exempt from misuse. Of all affec- 
tations of speech, there is none more offensive than short 



80 



ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 



double for long double o. To say root for root, or Jobd for 
food, is a phonetic abomination. 

Long u for long double o, is as bad as long double o for 
long u. Two is not tu. Dew is not dob. Do is dob. 

Short double o is, comparatively, well treated. To sub- 
stitute long double o for it, is an error of little magnitude in 
America. Were it used as a terminal sound, it would be 
subjected, as they all are, to spurious vanishes. 

Notice how similar are the rounds of w, and ob. Pro- 
nounce odet, wet But little phonetic loss would attend the 
disappearance of the sound of lo from our language. 

Spell Phonetically. 



strew, 


dough. 


grew, 


thought, 


weave. 


cone, 


glow, 


rheum. 


bruise. 


quest. 


roam. 


douche. 


move, 


stood, 


caoutchouc, 


foe. 


bureau, 


moon. 


should, 


manoeuvre, 


four. 


yeoman. 


group, 


bush. 


connoisseur, 


brooch. 


hautboy, 


rue. 


wolf, 


Worcester, 


owe, 


canoe, 


rule, 


choir. 


rendezvous. 



Do you know of any equivalents not found in the list? 
Do you know of any word other than manoeuvre that contains 
the triphthong oeu f 

Prepare lists as in previous lessons. Give a word con- 
taining silent w. 



lyKSSON IX. 

COGNATE SOUNDS. 

Two sounds are cognate when they have a common origin. 
When the vocal organs are in position to produce the 
sound of h, they are also in position to produce the sound 
of p. Hence h and p are cognate sounds. The cognates 
are: b — p, d — t, g — k, j — ch, tk— th, v — f, z — s, zh — sh. 



PHONETICS. 



81 



Phonetic Ills. 

The most troublesome trinity in this list is, doubtless, 
b, d, and g. They are by construction absolutely shut, but it 
requires some force of character to make them so, especially 
when they are used terminally. The ignorant speaker does 
not know that it is wrong to say andt for and. The indolent 
speaker does not care. Andu for and is quite as objection- 
able. Tub is not tubp, nor tuba. Log is not logh, nor logu. 
Large is not larjob. With is not withu. Love is not luvu; it 
is not luvf, but Mv. Lias is liaz, not liazs, nor hazu. Be 
careful not to make ch sound like s/i; or zh, like 8h. The 
digraph zh is never seen in an English word, but it is often 
heard. Give examples. Which of the cognate sounds are, 
as a rule, used explosively? Which are least fitted to bear 
long quantity? 

Spell Phonetically. 



ball, 


ghost, 


puff. 


this. 


glacial. 


pall, 


^g^> 


phlegm. 


breathe. 


chaise, 


hiccough, 


kill, 


tough. 


thick. 


dough. 


diphthong. 


hough, 


trough, 


withe, 


nauseous, 


dropped, 


quest, 


draught, 


azure. 


shall. 


add. 


stack, 


zone. 


mirage, 


version. 


time, 


chaos, 


czar. 


glazier. 


caption, 


thyme, 


coquette. 


laud. 


regime. 


schottish, 


worked, 


antique. 


discern. 


jet-d'eau. 


conscientious. 


yacht, 


jest, 


Xenophon, 


, transition. 


conscience. 


phthisic. 


gem. 


sole, 


explosion. 


fissure. 


coquette. 


chest. 


fuchsia, 


inclosure, 


passion, 


seven-night. 


vast, 


pass, 


luxurious. 


negotiate. 


asthma, ^ 


Stephen, 


cent. 


ocean, 


laxity. 


gone. 


fast, 


goal. 


oceanic. 


ouch. 



There are, doubtless, a number of substitutes for the 
sixteen cognate sounds not given in this list. Students 
should be asked to make a search for them. Name some 



82 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

word that contains silent h, d, f, g^ h, p, s, z; j is never silent; 
V is never silent. What is assimilation? What examples 
of assimilation in the foregoing list? Give some word iu 
which b becomes assimilated with some preceding or succeed- 
ing sound. Give one illustration of a similar change in the 
remaining cognates. Does j ever change to ch for the pur- 
pose of assimilation ? Is there any assimilation of sounds 
other than cognates? 



IvKSSON X. 

LIQUIDS— Z, 31, N, N, H. 

These five sounds complete the list of simple sounds. 
The first four are liquid sounds. Accommodating as are 
the cognates in pronunciation, the liquids are yet more so; 
they coalesce with either an aspirate or a sub- vocal. For 
example, in the word and the sound of n unites with that of 
c?, no more readily than with the sound of f, in the word ani. 

Illustrate the tendency to assimilation on the part of the 
other liquids. Is there any liquid not named in this lesson? 

Of the forty simple sounds in the English language, the 
sound of }i possesses, perhaps, the least individuality. But 
that it has a work to perform is shown by those speakers who 
say at for liat, and hat for at ; and harmole for armhole. 

As said of h, d, and g, so may be said of I, m, and n. 
They are mispronounced most in terminal positions. All is 
not ollu; jam is not jamu; ten is not tenu. Underline n is 
sometimes given too much of the nasal quality, and is allowed 
sometimes to partake too freely of the sound of g. To omit 
an h when it should be sounded, and sound it when it should 
be omitted, is an error too common to the English-speaking 
people. However in England, no less than in America, 
this custom is chiefly confined to the lower classes. 

The pupil may furnish his own lists of equivalents for m, 
n, w, and h. Spell the lists phonetically. Name some word 
containing silent h, I, m. 



PHONETICS. 83 



Lesson XI. 

PROPER DIPHTHONGS— LONG /, LONG U, 01, OU. 

What is a proper diphthong? There are a number of 
combinations which to the eye appear as proper diphthongs, 
but which to the ear are nothing more than simple sounds, 
as in 'please, in which ea is a single sound. How many otlier 
similar combinations are there? Give examples. What is 
such a combination sometimes called? The eye occasionally 
beholds a triphthong, as in the word lieu; but to the ear it 
is not a triphthong. 

As to the analysis of long i orthoepists differ. Sheridan 
says it is composed of 6 and e; Walker and Webster say a 
and e; Smart says u and e; while Worcester is sagely silent. 
Among them there would seem to be a uniform feeling that 
long e is the *proper vanish. Every drawler in the land in- 
dorses that conclusion. 

However, as long % is always found where its initial 
sound (a) consumes the more time, there is no reason why 
the vanishing sound may not always be short i; certainly it 
is more agreeable to the ear. 

The sound of long it has aroused more discussion and 
more diversity of opinion than any other sound. Worcester 
says u = y^u, sl quantity equal to itself and something 
more. We leave that problem with the mathematicians. 
Webster says u = y-\- do, or e + yod, or i + oo, and in the 
latest edition is added e-\- oo. No one can question the flex- 
ibility of his analysis. For all practical purposes e + oo is 
sufficient, let the u be found in what position it may. When 
a prolongation of the sound of long u becomes necessary, the 
prolongation should fall upon the vanishing sound. Long 
quantity on the initial sound does it great injury. 

The attempt to prolong the vanish of long i not only in- 
troduces some spurious sound, but adds a syllable unlawfully. 
Thus, fire becomes fier or fiur. F6er for fire, although sane- 



84 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

tioned by Sheridan, has very few followers. Long u is very 
often mispronounced. There are many who liabitually sup- 
press its initial sound, as dobty for duty. With equal pro- 
priety they might say oose for use. In the pronunciation of 
the word lute, one frequently hears nothing but the vanish 
of long II, thus, loot. The sound of long u undergoes another 
distortion fully as disagreeable as the one just noted. It is 
the attempt to prolong its initial sound, the sequel to which 
is plewn for plume, veil for view. 

The sound of oi is not so much misused. Ik for oil is 
the fault of but a limited class. The sound of ou is some- 
what more harshly treated. A cow is, ordinarily, a harmless 
animal; but a keou is not to be trusted. Ahobt for about is 
another ludicrous error. Do you know of any other ills that 
beset these four diphthongs? Spurious sounds before long i 
are as much to be condemned as when found preceding long u. 
Geyid for guide; geyerl for girl; skel for sky, afe samples of 
this provincialism. Give other illustrations. Name a num- 
ber of words in which long u is mispronounced. 

Spell Phonetically. 



ay, 


why. 


oil. 


you. 


beauty, 


ey, 


isle, 


guide. 


blew, 


pursuit, 


eye, 


aisle. 


slime. 


blue. 


adieu. 


vie, 


light, 


rhyme. 


feod, 


maneuver. 


buy. 


height, 


eider. 


flute, 


accoutre. 



What equivalents? Replace the words in this lesson, so 
far as you can, with other words containing the same equiv- 
alents. Are there other substitutes not given here? Prepare 
a full list of words containing the sound of long u. In the 
word feod, eo equals long u. Can you give another example? 
In the word bough, what is the equivalent? Give other illus- 
trations of the same. Analyze the twenty-six letters of the 
alphabet phonetically. In the analysis how many of the forty 
simple sounds appear? What are they? Name those that 



PHONETICS. 85 

remain. How many simple sounds are used in the pronun- 
ciation of the letter wl What are they? What letters of 
the alphabet entirely disappear in the phonetic analysis? 
Name twenty words of one syllable containing the sound of 
long u; twenty words of two syllables; twenty words of more 
than two syllables. 



Part VI. 



Orthoepy 



What is good pronunciation? To this question we have 
seen no more fitting ansAver than that of Dr. Johnson, an 
eminent English lexicographer of the cigliteenth century. 
This is his definition : " The best general rule is to consider 
those as the most elegant speakers who deviate least from the 
written words." 

Of this statement Worcester says: " Tliis is a princi- 
ple which seems worthy of being encouraged rather than 
checked." 

Smart, the most prominent English lexicographer of the 
present day, sanctions this definition. 

Webster's Dictionary also argues that the more nearly 
words are pronounced as they are spelled, the better is the 
pronunciation. 

However, all of these authorities are found frequently to 
violate this most commendable law. A few illustrations 
must suffice. 

Worcester attributes the sound of e to that of short i, in 
unaccented syllables; thus, dutiful he calls duteful; ability he 
calls abilete; but he does not say what e is meant. He is 
guilty of an inexactness almost as great when he places a 
semi-dieresis under a vowel in an unaccented syllable, to 
show that the vowel is to have an obscure sound, failing to 
say what obscure sound is meant. 

Walker, in speaking of the word nature, violates the prin- 
86 



ORTHOEPY. 87 

ciple when he says: "Some critics have contended that it 
ought to be pronounced as if written nate-yure; but this pro- 
nunciation comes so near to that here adopted [ndchur] as 
scarcely to be distinguishable from it." Walker apparently 
errs here, as there is a very keen distinction between yilix 
and chure. 

Webster conforms to the principle in treating of words 
ending in dure, hire, as verdyoor, gestyoor; but when the word 
ends in sure he disregards it ; thus, instead of saying cens- 
yoor, lie says censhoor. 

Worcester agrees with Webster in the foregoing, except 
that he puts a serai-diaresis under the u in each case; as 
dure, ture, shire. 

All of these authorities drop the initial sound of u, when 
preceded byr, s, or z. This they justify on the ground of ease 
of utterance. Smart goes further by dropping the initial 
sound ofu in such words as lute, conclude; and Sheridan went 
so far as to say shoopreme for supreme, shooicide for suicide. 

Worcester is guilty of a violation more flagrant than any 
yet cited. He would have us pronounce such words as hire, 
lore, more, soar, sore, flour, as though they were dissylables, 
thus, higher and lotver. This corruption can not be too 
severely criticised. He emphasizes his error by adding: "a, 
e, i, 0, u, 00, ou, in the words fare, mere, ire, poor, our, 
are not quite identical with the same sounds in fate, mete, 
ide, ode, cube, pool, oivV That the a in fare is not identical 
with the a in fate no one will question ; but the remainder 
of the statement is open to criticism. 

Smart maintains that the a in care is the same as a in 
fate, and that it owes all its peculiarity in the former instance 
to the subsequent r. The fact is, the sound of a in care, and 
of a in fate, is not the same. In the former, it is long flat 
a; in the latter, long a. Long flat a has a sound of its 
own wholly independent of r, and, in phonetic spelling, we, 
invariably sound the two separately. 

We find in the Principles of Pronunciation of Webster's 



88 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

Dictionary, as revised by Chauncey A. Goodrich and Noah 
Porter, these words: ** When an unaccented syllable ends 
in a consonant, its vowel, if single, has in strict theory its 
regular short sound, though uttered somewhat more faintly 
than in an accented syllable, as in assign', etc. In many 
words of this class, however, the vowel is apt to suffer a 
change or corruption of its distinctive quality, passing over 
into some sound of easier utterance." 

In the foregoing quotation it will be observed the revisers 
condemn, as a corruption, the lapse in pronunciation. Almost 
immediately thereafter they encourage the corruption by say- 
ing: ''As a general rule, a and o, in unaccented syllables 
ending in a consonant, verge toward, or fall into, the sound 
of short u, as in baUad, method, etc. In such words, it would 
ordinarily be the merest pedantry or affectation to give the 
vowel its regular short sound. Thus the vowel sounds in the 
unaccented syllables, ar, er, ir, or, yr, are coincident with 
the sound of u in sulphur." 

Those who oppose both corruption and contradiction, as 
well as the violation of Johnson's most practical principle, 
will not say ur nor 'Ar for ar, er, ir, or yr. 

We quote from Webster's Principles of Pronunciation 
again: ''In connected discourse, certain classes of monosyl- 
lables, such as articles, prepositions, pronouns, conjunctions, 
and auxiliary verbs, are usually unemphasized, and their 
vowel is liable to the same corruption of quality as that in an 
unaccented syllable of a word. Thus in the word tfieir, when 
unemphatic, the vowel sound would resemble u in the word 
urge, and the words a, your, that, the, from, for, etc., would 
become nearly or quite u, thus, y'lXr, thut, frum, fur, etc." 

Whether the words quoted may or may not be con- 
strued into an indorsement, is a matter of little moment, as 
they are self-contradictory ; for the u in urge is not u short. 

When words a/e pronounced precisely as they are spelled, 
then, and not till then, will Dr. Johnson's standard of good 
pronunciation be fully realized. 



ORTHOEPY. 89 



ORTHOBPIC INCONSISTENCIES. 

Why orthoepists insist upon the difficult accentuation of 
many words is hard to understand. The placing of the ac- 
cent on the first syllable of the word orthoepy, for example, is 
difficult and unnatural. It will be answered that some law 
of philology or etymology has so decreed it. Fortunately 
an inborn love of comfort combats the law's austerity, and 
usually wins. The majority of speakers will continue to say 
ortho'epy until orthoepists will do the same. Very many words 
might be cited as having undergone a change of accent in 
favor of easy utterance. Dyspepsy was once accented on the 
first syllable. Speakers, as a rule, prefer Webster's discrep'- 
ant, discrep'ancy, acces'sary, acces^sory, to Worcester's dis'crep- 
ant, dls'crepancy, ae^cessary, ac'cessory. There are many other 
words destined to surrender to this innate love of euphony 
and ease. One does not often hear Worcester's pronuncia- 
tion of halco'ny, quanda'ry, elegi'ac. 

Why Webster finds fault with orthoepists for being in- 
consistent in their pronunciation of trisyllabic adjectives 
ending in ose, and then accents the following words thus, 
acetose', ad'ipose, anhnose', op'erose, and cd'matdse, is beyond 
comprehension. 

Why Worcester accents the noun increase upon both the 
first and second syllables, and accents the noun decrease only 
upon the second syllable, would probably puzzle the philolo- 
gists. Why he accents the noun detail on both the first 
and second syllables, and the noun retail only on the first syl- 
lable, is quite as puzzling. Proceed^ as a noun, he accents 
on either the first or second syllable; proceeds, as a noun, he 
accents only on the last syllable. Why? His treatment of 
the word gallant is as novel as it is intricate and confusing. 
As a noun, meaning gay, gallant' ; as an adjective, mean- 
ing gay or brave, gal'lant; as an adjective, meaning polite, 
gallant'. Webster says, gallant', as a noun ; gal'lant, as an 
adjective. 

8 



90 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

The student finds sucli inconsistencies very confusing, and 
tbey add immeasurably to the difficulties in the study of 
orthoepy. 



BVII. TENDENCIES IN ORTHOEPY. 

There is a great tendency in America to give undue 
prominence to unaccented syllables, and to those with second- 
ary accents. The English are much less given to this ; and 
such words as alimony, dedicatory, melancholy, gooseberry, drop 
from their lips with a smoothness and elasticity most com- 
mendable. An American will pronounce straivberry in such a 
way that one would find it difficult to decide upon which 
syllable he means to place the primary accent. Nothing is 
more fatal to the flow of speech than exaggerated or ill- 
placed accentuation. 

The substitution of illegitimate for legitimate sounds in 
unaccented syllables is one of the rankest corruptions to which 
pronunciation is subject. Thus one hears brier for briar; 
jewil for jewel; cavul for cavil; and demun for demon. Of 
course sounds in unaccented syllables and in unemphatic 
words should be given more lightly than those in accented syl- 
lables and in emphatic words; but they should not lose their 
individuality. It is inconsistent to say my when emphatic, and 
me when unemphatic, or thy, emphatic, and thu, unemphatic. 

The misplacement of quantity is another error in orthoepy 
of no little magnitude. To know what sound should be pro- 
longed in different words is a matter of great importance. 
In any word that requires long quantity there is always some 
sound which may be prolonged without marring the pronun- 
ciation. Let the pupil give illustrations of this corruption, 
and state its remedy. 

The mumbling and merging of sounds, syllables, and 
words is a common error; as, virchoo for virtue; perpechiial for 
perpetual; ivoojoo for ivoidd ijou ; someore for some more; thislate for 
this slate. Eequire the pupil to prepare a list of similar errors. 



ORTHOEPY. 91 



ORTHOBPIC RUI.BS. 

Only such rules will be given as will be of especial 
service to pupils in the study of orthoepy. 

I. The souud of short Italian a is found in three posi- 
tions: as an emphatic word; as an unaccented syllable; as 
a terminal in an unaccented syllable. Examples: He is a 
man; Asa; America. 

II. C, before a, o, u, usually has the sound of 1c, as in 
cane, coney cube. As a rule, when c is found before e and i 
sounds, it takes the sound of s, as in cent, cite, cyst. Excep- 
tions: Discern, sceptic, scirrhus, suffice, sacrifice. 

III. In verbs and participles ending in ed, the e is usually 
silent; as in blessed. When they are derived from roots 
which end in d, or t, the e is sounded ; as in accorded. 

Adjectives ending in ed sound the e; as in bless-ed. 

Participles used as adjectives generally retain the e; as in 
crooh-ed. 

Adverbs in which the ed is followed by ly, or ness, retain 
the e; as in resignedly, blessedness. 

IV. It is the rule to sound the e in terminal el; as in 
chisel. Exceptions: Betel, drazel, drivel, easel, grovel, 
hazel, mantel, navel, ousel, ravel, rivel, scovel, shekel, shovel, 
shrivel, snivel, swingel, swivel, teasel, tousel, weasel. 

Worcestor suppresses the e in the word barbel. Webster 
suppresses the e in mispickel. 

V. In terminal en the e is usually silent ; as in even, 
heaven, seven, eleven. 

Words which are not participles, in which the en is pre- 
ceded by I, m, n, r, form an exception to this rule. Outside 
of these the exceptions are few. 

Webster both sounds and suppresses the e in sloven; 
Worcester does not suppress it in sloven, nor in Eden, bounden. 

VI. G, before e and i sounds usually has the sound of./; 
as in gem, gin, gymnast. Before a, o, and u, it retains its 
sound ; as in game, goad, gun. The word gaol is an exception. 



92 ELOCUTION AND OR A TOR Y. 

VII. Chemical terms ending in ide, by almost all ortho- 
epists, are pronounced with the i short ; as in chloride. 

VIII. Terminal il usually sounds the i, as in anvil. Devil, 
evil, weevil, are exceptions. 

IX. The i is also retained, as a rule, in terminal in; as in 
Latin. Exceptions: Basin, cousin, raisin. 

X. When preceded by c, or k, the o in terminal on is 
usually silent; as in deacon, reckon. 

XI. R is never silent except when two are consecutive 
in the same syllable; as in myrrh. A vowel preceding 
double r, not terminal, takes its short sound, as a rule. 
Examples: Merry, hurry. The vowel is also usually short, 
if the r which it precedes is followed by a syllable beginning 
with a vowel. Examples: Apparel, peril. 

Derivatives from words ending in re are exceptions. Ex- 
ample: Daring. To this may be added the words alarum, 
and parent. 

XII. Nouns which in the singular end with aspirate 
th, usually retain that sound. Examples: Youths, truths. 
Exceptions : Baths, cloths, latJis, moths, mouths, oaths, paths, 
wreaths. 

XIII. Double Consona:nts. — When any consonant is 
doubled in a single syllable, but one is sounded. Example: 
Falling. 

If a syllable ends with a consonant, and the next syllable 
begins with the same consonant, it is the custom to sound 
but one, although that one is somewhat more prolonged than 
when found in other positions. Example : Commence. Nor 
does general usage, in ordinary speech, give the two sounds 
separately when one closes a word and the other is initial to 
the following word. However, speech would gain greatly in 
distinctness and dignity were both sounds given in such 
instances. 

XIV. In the pronunciation of nouns, adjectives, and 
verbs, of more than one syllable, it is the rule to place the 
accent further back on nouns and adjectives than on verbs; 



ORTHOEPY. 93 

thus : refiise as a noun or adjective is accented on the peuul- 
tima ; as a verb, on the ultima. 

XV. If there is nothing in the orthography or accent to 
distiuguish the noun or adjective from the verb, some change 
in sound must be made. Abuse, as a noun or adjective, re- 
tains the sound of s; as a verb, the § takes the sound of z. 

XVI. When words which are used antithetically, differ 
in their spelling in but one syllable, that syllable receives 
the accent. Example : I said in'citement, not ex'citement 

XVII. In poetry, accent is usually made to conform to 
the demands of rhythm and rhyme ; but this is an unwar- 
ranted liberty. 

XVIII. Dissyllabic nouns and adjectives are usually dis- 
tinguished by placing the accent on the ultima of adjectives; 
and on the penultima of nouns. Example : Au'gust, as a 
noun ; august', as an adjective. 

XIX. Accent is not found as a rule upon two consecu- 
tive syllables. Walker claims that ainen is the only word in 
the language that must of necessity be accented on two con- 
secutive syllables. With equal reason a double accent might 
be placed on many other dissyllabic words, especially com" 
pounds ; as jpeW -mell' , up' -builds 



ORTHOEPIC EXERCISES. 

1. It is fair that she should share with the other heir. 

2. A man with much land must hire a liand. 

3. One could not ask a more pleasant task. 

4. Let him bask in the sun with his mask. 

5. In a cask or flask is the sting of an asp. 

6. He could neither grasp nor clasp the hasp or rasp. 

7. At last he cast a blast quite fast at caste. 

8. His friends stood aghast at his bombast. 

9. In the past a vast amount of brass was amassed. 

10. Alas ! the mass of the class could not pass. 

11. A lass looked in the glass and saw the grass. 



94 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

12. His wine he may quaff, may flourish his staff, but his 

words are chaff. 

13. They dance and prance when they get a chance. 

14. He woke from his trance and grasped his lance. 

15. He quaffed a draught from the rickety raft. 

16. He held out his arms to his aunt for alms. 

17. He took a bath in the calm of the balmy afternoon. 

18. Slie flaunts her jaunty hat in her favorite haunt. 

19. I can't nor sha'n't take this taunt. Avaunt! 

20. The calf was gaunt as though half starved. 

21. In wrath he strode down the path with a lath. 

22. With a laugh and a psalm he carries the palm. 

23. The words, laundry, gauntlet, dahlia, sauuter, moustache, 

drama, rajah, jaundice, piano, agape, rather, half, and 
salve, are often mispronounced. 

24. He ate a banana as a fitting finale. 

25. The sot was sought and caught on a cot. 

26. Do not say tot for taught ; not for naught ; rot for 

wrought. 

27. Do not say horn for borne ; hold for bold ; scald for 

scold ; call for coal ; said for soul ; tar for tore ; morn 
for mourn ; sawn for sown. 

28. His children were gifted, trusted, honest, bleSsed. 

29. Do not say surge for serge ; surf for serf; urn for earn; 

fur for fir. 
80, At first we saw the bird in the myrtle ; then it flew to 
the earth, where it was at the hunter's mercy. 

31. After we enter the car the rain will not annoy us. 

32. An honor was conferred upon a certain, earnest, superb, 

fervid, perfect performer. 

33. Do not say goward for gourd, nor wah for war. 

34. If dew is doo, then, surely, hew is hod. 

35. If news is nodz, amuse is amooz. 

36. It is as proper to say dispoot as to say institoot. 

37. If ladies consoom candies, they should perfooyn their hand- 

kerchiefs. 



ORTHOEPY. 95 

38. One who is seclooded may refodz to come fortb. 

39. Say illodmination if you say oonited States. 

40. Upon his throne he reigns supreme. 

41. And day had dawned before he rose. 

42. Did you, would you, can't you, sha'n't you go? 

43. Could you, should you, must you make such gestures? 

44. His son seeks sources of highest culture. 

45. He has fortune, who has health and content. 

46. Eventually and effectually his education was complete. 

47. In feature beautiful, in disposition amiable, in virtue 

unsurpassed. 

48. When youths of this age tell truths, they are sage. 

49. Black cloth is worn now by plebeian and courtier. 

50. Perpetuate the right ; ameliorate the wrong. 

51. Do not venture to caricature that creature. 

52. His betrothed said the furniture was fine. 

53. If neither he sells sea-shells, nor she sells sea-shells, who 

shall sell sea-shells? Shall sea-shells be sold? 

54. Shall she shun sunshine ? Shall he shun sunshine ? 

Shall suDshine be shunned? 

55. The bituminous coal comes annually, or biennially. 

56. Blessed is the man Avho makes men happy. 

57. Cold and passionless, the snow, like a cerement, clung 

to the earth. 

58. Cincinnati is on the eve of her centennial. 

59. With the subject of civil service he is conversant. 

60. You may come at half-past seven, Christmas eve. 

61. The curator is eleven hundred and seventeen miles away. 

62. In his decadence the executor is excessively exorbitant. 

63. He is a bounteous,* courteous, cultivated Christian. 

64. Through his impetuosity the exposure came. 

65. He seems to be naturally and perpetually tempestuous. 
Q6. Beyond question she modulates well. 

67. His system is an admixture of allopathy and home- 

opathy. 

68. He is combative, vehement, indefatigable, peremptory. 



96 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

69. His order is irrevocable ; his loss irreparable, remediless. 

70. He has the vagaries of an epicuriau. 

71. Beware the revolting, sacrilegious traducer and blas- 

phemer. 

72. A righteous soul is a treasure untold. 

73. That the temperature is low is demonstrable. 

74. Although he is virtually a usurer, he is not amenable 

to the law. 

75. His complaisant opponent is an incomparable orator. 

76. The acoustics of the Odeon are admirable, if not ex- 

quisite. 

77. He resolutely, voluminously, turbulently, declines. 

78. As an amateur he is conversant with the subject. 

79. His mind is rational, fame national, conduct exemplary. 

80. His gondola glides over the legendary waters of the 

Lethean stream. 

81. Literature and eloquence flourish most in lands of frosts. 

82. Do not misconstrue the allegorist's meaning. 

83. His voice Avas canorous, his purse plethoric, his course 

chivalric. 

84. The athenaeum was pyramidal in shape. 

85. What a gigantean mind his coadjutor displays! 

86. Contumely, scathing raillery, was the product of his 

splenetic tongue. 

87. That the recitative should be given is not obligatory. 

88. Over your allies the brigand takes precedence. 

89. That adult is an adept in address with large assets. 

90. Contrary to expectation, the canine became acclimated. 

91. The aeronaut in his aerial flight rose above the horizon. 

92. The truculent Pythogoreans fill their stomachs with 

anchovies and apricot truflies. 

93. The diocesan betook himself to absolutory prayers. 

94. Doffiing his blouse and chapeau, the manager of the 

museum leaped upon the tepid and saline waters. 

95. The superintendent of calisthenics in the Lyceum of 

Nice ended his life on the gallows. 



ORTHOEPY. 97 

96. The allopathic Esculapians prescribe quinine as an anti- 

periodic, and morphine as a soporific. 

97. She wore a brooch of onyx set in platinum and gold, 

with a vine of clematis around her forehead. 

98. He was an expert in telegraphy, telephony, and micros- 

copy, and an experienced pedagogist and paragraphist. 

99. My indefatigable and redoubtable military comrade was 

drowned in the Thames. 
100. These one hundred exercises in orthoepy are not offered 
as examples of excellent diction. 
9 



Part Vll. 



Modulation 



Modulation is the stream on whose bosom thought finds 
vocal transmission. This stream is sometimes perfectly serene ; 
sometimes it surges along tumultuously ; and between the ex- 
tremes of calmness and commotion there is infinite change. 
Modulation has reference to those alterations in vocal utter- 
ance by which the qualities of thought and the variations of 
feeling are expressed. By modulation the feeling soul unites 
with the thinking brain, and the utterance becomes subdued 
by sorrow, or thrills and trembles with pathos, or deepens 
with suppressed passion. Under this one generic term may 
be included pitch, force, volume, quality, rate, quantity, 
pause, and inflection. The science of JElocution comprehends 
and formulates the laws which underlie the whole range of 
expression, while the art of Elocution comprehends expres- 
sion untrammeled by bodily defects or by conventional usage. 
Thus may be seen the value of elocutionary drill. Only those 
whose voices and bodies possess every virtue, and are free 
from every defect, are in no need of such training. 



FUNDAMBNTAI. DRII,!,. 

A VERY high degree of vocal excellence may be attained 
even though the drill be confined to the simple mutable vowel 
sounds. The first attempt to pronounce these sounds, even 

98 



MODULATION. 99 

in a simple conversational tone, will reveal some vocal de- 
fects. Attempting the same in very high keys will reveal 
other defects; in very low keys, still others. Various de- 
grees of force will develop their own special difficulties. 
The following are some of them : huskiness, harshness, hard- 
ness, thinness, sharpness, aspiration, nasality, and indistinct 
articulation. 

To develop smoothness, purity, flexibility, compass, vol- 
ume, power, and control of the voice, the following fundamen- 
tal exercises are commended. 



IvKSSON I. 



FUNDAMKNTAI, BXKRCISBS. 

Crescendo. — Prolong the mutable vowel sounds, begin- 
ning with the smallest audible amount of volume, increasing 
each sound to the fullest extent. From five to ten seconds 
is as long as the beginner can carry a crescendo. He also 
finds it very difficult to make the increase in volume a grad- 
ual one. The voice manifests a desire to expand by jerks. 
It requires much skill to so shade the increase that the limit 
of fullness shall be reached at the instant the breath is ex- 
hausted. The breath shows a disposition to escape too rap- 
idly, especially during the first two or three seconds. The 
quality of the voice oftentimes proves unruly. Ten minutes 
daily practice for three months will more than double the 
prolonging power, and improve in a marked degree the vol- 
ume and quality of the voice. 

Diminuendo. — Prolong the mutable vowel sounds be- 
ginning with the fullest possible volume, gradually decreas- 
ing it to the smallest audible tone. Time the exercise. Eight 
seconds will suffice for the first effort. Six months of proper 
elocutionary training will more than triple this amount of 
time. In prolonging the sound, as in the crescendo, see that 
a uniform pitch is preserved ; that the vibratory movements 



100 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

of the voice are not irregular ; that the quality of the voice 
is good ; and that no jerking of the tone is allowed. 

Crescendo and Diminuendo Combined. — Prolong 
the mutable vowel sounds, beginning with the slightest vol- 
ume, steadily swelling to the climax, and as gradually di- 
minishing to the starting point. Profiting by preceding 
practice, the pupil should be able to prolong this combina- 
tion at least ten seconds. The great difficulty will be to di- 
vide evenly his time and strength between the crescendo and 
the diminuendo. Avoid waste of breath, change of pitch , facial 
contortions, and labored action of the shoulders. Practice 
these exercises in pitch ranging from the lowest to the highest. 

In testing the voice at different keys it will often be 
found that, while it is good in quality in one pitch, it is de- 
fective in another. Some have good control of the voice in 
the medium, but can not command a good quality in the 
higher keys. With others the reverse is the case. Again, 
many voices, pure enough when propelled by moderate force, 
become quite unruly when force is added or withdrawn. 
Practice will give control throughout the entire vocal range. 



IvBSSON II. 

CONVBRSATIONAIv TONKS. 

Pronounce the vowel sounds in a conversational manner. 
At first glance this seems an easy exercise ; but perfect sim- 
plicity of utterance is the reward only of much practice ; and 
it is the highest type of art. 

Upon some of the sounds, especially long a, e, and i, 
many voices will break, or harden, or grow husky. Let the 
drill be continued until each vowel sound can be pronounced 
with perfect purity. Not until the breath is thoroughly vo- 
calized, and the molding agents put in proper position, 
can this be done. Insist on the pronunciation of each sound 
with the descending slide. 



MODULATION. 101 

The instructor will learn that in almost every instance 
the student who has difficulty in uttering these letters with 
the downward slide, will have the same difficulty in reading. 
The upward inflection has done much damage. Many posi- 
tive statements have lost their convincing power because of 
the final upward slide. 



Lesson III. 

TREMULANT TONES. 

About one out of five beginners fail to produce and sus- 
tain a truly tremulous tone. Some will start the tone ef- 
fusively, breaking occasionally into a momentary tremor, 
and again lapsing into the efi'usive. A very few do not so 
much as touch the tremor in their first attempts. 

Exercise : Prolong the mutable vowel sounds tremulously. 
Preserve a uniform pitch, the same degree of volume, and 
an evenly distributed vibratory movement. 

Tremulant Exercises. 

1. " Eest thee, my babe ; rest on ! ' Tis hunger's cry. 
Sleep ! For there is no food ; the fount is dry. 
Famine and cold their wearying work have done ! 
My heart must break ! And thou !" — The clock strikes one. 

COATES. 

2. Christ, who didst bear the scourging, 
And who now dost wear the crown, 

I at thy feet, 

O True and Sweet, 
Would lay my burden down. 

Thou bad'st me love and cherish 
The babe thou gavest me, 
And I have kept 
Thy word, nor stepped 
Aside from following thee. 
And lo ! my boy is dying ! 
And vain is all my care ; 



/ 
102 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

And my burden's weight 
Is very great, 
Yea, greater than I can bear ! 

Lord, thou knowest what peril 

Doth threat these poor men's Uves; 
And I, a woman, 
Most weak and human, 

Do plead for their waiting wives. 

Thou canst not let them perish! 

Up, Lord, in thy strength, and save 
From the scorching breath 
Of this terrible death. 

On this cruel winter wave. 

ANON. 



IvESSON IV. 

METHODS OF VOCAL EMISSION. 

There are three cardinal methods of emitting the voice ; 
viz., effusive, expulsive, explosive. In effusive utterance 
the vocal cords are acted upon in a smooth, steady, connected 
manner. The expulsive and explosive deliveries differ but 
little in their mechanism. In each style the vocal cords are 
in contact throughout their entire length. If the sudden 
glottal stroke be followed by a vanish, the result is expul- 
sion. Deduct the vanish, and explosion is the result. 

Effusive Emission. 

V(ywel Practice. — Give each vowel sound with a free, full, 
pure, prolonged outflow of the voice. Not a trace of hard- 
ness or huskiness is admissible in this exercise. 

Thoughts of a quiet, respectful, subdued, resigned, benig- 
nant nature, employ the effusive mode. 

Effusive Exercises. 

1. Three of them! a charmed and mystic number, which, 
if it be broken in these young days — as alas! it may be — will only 
yield a cherub-angel to float over you, and to float over them. 



MODULATION. 103 

to wean you and to wean them from this world, where all joys 
do perish, to that seraph- world where joys do last forever. 

DONALD G. MITCHELL. 

2. My Paul has climbed the noblest mountain height 
In all his little world, and gazed on scenes 
As beautiful as rest beneath the sun. 
I trust he will remember all his life 
That to his best achievement, and the spot 
Nearest to heaven his youthful feet have trod. 
He has been guided by a guileless lamb. 

J. G. HOLLAND. 

3. Up ! forth again, Pegasus ! " Many 's the slip," 

Hath the proverb well said, '"'twixt the cup and the lip." 
How blest should we be, have I often conceived. 
Had we really achieved what we nearly achieved ! 
We but catch at the skirts of the thing we would be, 
And fall back on the lap of a false destiny. 
So it will be, so has been, since this world began ! 
And the happiest, noblest, and best part of man 
Is the part which he never hath fully played out ; 
For the first and last word in life's volume is — Doubt. 
The face the most fair to our vision allowed 
Is the face we encounter and lose in the crowd. 
The thought that most thrills our existence is one 
Which, before we can frame it in language, is gone. 

Horace! the rustic still rests by the river. 

But the river flows on, and flows past him forever ! 
Who can sit down and say, " What I will be, I will?" 
Who stand up and affirm, " What I was, I am still?" 
Who is it that must not, if questioned, say, " What 

1 would have remained or become, I am not?" 

OWEN MEREDITH. 

WB SHALI. KNOW. 

When the mists have rolled in splendor 

From the beauty of the hills, 
And the sunshine warm and tender 

Falls in kisses on the rills. 
We may read love's shining letter 

In the rainbow of the spray; 
We shall know each other better 



104 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY, 

When the mists have cleared away. 
We shall know as we are known, 
Nevermore to walk alone, 
In the dawning of the morning, 
When the mists have cleared away. 

If we err in human blindness. 

And forget that we are dust. 
If we miss the law of kindness. 

When we struggle to be just. 
Snowy wings of peace shall cover 

All the pain that clouds our day, 
When the weary watch is over 

And the mists have cleared away. 
We shall know as we are known, 
Nevermore to walk alone. 
In the dawning of the morning, 
When tlie mists have cleared away. 

When the silvery mists have veiled us 

From the faces of our own, 
Oft we deem their love has failed us, 

And we tread our path alone ; 
We should see them near and truly, 

We should trust them day by day, 
Neither love nor blame unduly. 
If the mists were cleared away. 

We shall know as we are known, 
Nevermore to walk alone, 
In the dawning of the morning. 
When the mists have cleared away. 

ANON. 



Lesson V. 

EXPULSIVE EMISSION. 

Vowel Practice. — Give the mutable vocal sounds expul- 
sively, opening with fullest volume, and rapidly vanishing 
into silence. 

Caution. — Avoid stiffness or tightness of the throat at the 
base of the tongue, as you value your voice and your health. 



MODULATION. 105 

Incisiveness, aggressiveness, decisiveness, and obstinacy, 
usually move expulsively. 

Expulsive Illusteations. 

1. O, comrades ! warriors ! Thracians ! — if we must fight, let 
us fight for ourselves.' If we must slaughter, let us slaughter 
our oppressors. If we must die, let it be under the clear sky, by 
the bright waters, in noble, honorable battle. e. kellogg. 

2. Eouse, ye Eomans! Eouse, ye slaves! Have ye brave 
sons? Look in the next fierce brawl to see them die! Have ye 
fair daughters ? Look to see them torn from your arms, dis- 
dained, dishonored ; and if ye dare call for justice, be answered 
by the lash ! Yet this is Rome, that sat upon her seven hills, 
and from her throne of beauty ruled the world ! Yet we are 
Eomans ! Why, in that elder day, to be a Eoman was greater 
than a king. maky r. mitford. 

3. It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen 
may cry peace, peace ! but there is no peace. The war is actually 
begun. The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to 
our ears the clash of resounding arms. Our brethren are already 
in the field. Why stand we here idle ? What is it that gentle- 
men wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace 
so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? 
Forbid it. Almighty God! I know not what course others may 
take, but as for me, give me liberty, or give me death ! 

PATRICK HENRY. 

In these exercises what words make especial use of the 
expulsive attack ? 

Iy:essoN VI. 
EXPI^OSIVE EMISSION. 

Aggeessiveness, vindictiveness, anger, defiance, and 
kindred emotions use the explosive quality of voice. 

Vowel practice. — Give the vowel sounds explosively. 
In giving this exercise, beware of throat-congestion. The 
labor of hurling the breath against the vocal cords should be 
borne mainly by the muscles of the waist and chest. It is 



106 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

not necessary, in this exercise, to jerk the shoulders upward, 
nor to stand on the toes, nor to wrinkle the forehead, nor to 
shut the eyes. 

In explosive practice, the teacher can not guard pupils 
too zealously. Better entirely to omit this practice than to 
engage in it injudiciously. Properly conducted, it exhila- 
rates; improperly conducted, it exhausts. It should make 
one hungry, but not tired. 

Intelligently employed, vociferous exercises exert a be- 
neficent influence as up-builders of the voice ; but when used 
injudiciously, they have few rivals as voice-destroyers. 

Explosive Exercises. 

1. Who spake of life ? I bade thee grasp that treasure as 
thine honor — a jewel worth whole hecatombs of lives! Begone! 
Redeem thine honor ! Back to Marion, or Baradas, or Orleans ; 
track the robber, regain the packet ; or crawl on to age — age and 
gray hairs like mine— and know thou hast lost that which had 
made thee great and saved thy country. See me not till thou 
hast bought the right to see me. Away ! Nay, cheer thee ! 
Thou hast not failed yet. Fail ! Fail ! In the bright lexicon of 
youth, there 's no such word as fail ! bulwer. 

2. Tlioii liest, knave! I am old, infirm — most feeble — but 
thou liest ! Armand de Richelieu dies not by the hand of man : 
the stars have said it, and the voice of my own oracular soul 
confirms the shining sybils ! Call them all, thy brother butch- 
ers ! Earth hath no such fiend. No ! as one parricide of his 
fatherland, who dares in Richelieu murder France ! 

BULWER. 

3. To thy knees, and crawl for pardon ; for I tell thee thou 
shalt live for such remorse, that, did I hate thee, I would bid 
thee strike, that I might be avenged ! It was to save my Julia 
from the king, that in my valor I forgave thy crime. It was 
when thou, the rash and ready tool — yea, of that shame thou 
loath'st — did'st leave thy hearth to the polluter— in these arms 
thy bride found the protecting shelter thine withheld. 

BULWER. 

4. Ay, is it so ? Then wakes the power which, in the age of 
iron, burst forth to curb the great and raise the low. Mark where 



MODULATION. 107 

she stands ! Around her form I draw the awful circle of our sol- 
emn church ! Set but one foot within that holy ground, and on 
thy head— yea, though it wore a crown— I launch the curse of 
Rome. BULWER. 

6. Irreverent ribald ! If so, beware the falling ruins ! Hark ! 
I tell thee, scorner of these whitening hairs, when this snow 
melteth there shall come a flood! A vaunt! My name is Rich- 
elieu. I defy thee ! Walk blindfold on ; behind thee stalks the 
headsman ! Ha 1 ha 1 how pale he is 1 Heaven save my country ! 

BULWER. 

Select the most decidedly explosive words and passages. 
RICHEIvIEU AND FRANCE. 

My liege, your anger can recall your trust, 
Annul my office, spoil me of my lands, 
Rifle my coffers ; but my name, my deeds, 
Are royal in a land beyond your scepter. 
Pass sentence on me, if you will ; from kings, 
Lo, I appeal to time ! Be just, my liege. 
I found your kingdom rent with heresies 
And bristling with rebellion ; lawless nobles 
And dreadless serfs ; England fomenting discord ; 
Austria, her clutch on your dominion ; Spain 
Forging the prodigal gold of either Ind 
To armed thunderbolts. The arts lay dead ; 
Trade rotted in your marts ; your armies mutinous, 
Your treasury bankrupt. Would you now revoke 
Your trust ? So be it 1 and I leave you sole, 
Supremest monarch of the mightiest realm 
From Ganges to the icebergs. Look without — 
No foe not humbled 1 Look within — the Arts 
Quit, for our school, their old Hesperides, 
The golden Italy ! while throughout the veins 
Of your vast empire flows in strengthening tides 
Trade, the calm health of nations ! Sire, I know 
That men have called me cruel. 
I am not ; I am just ! I found France rent asunder ; 
The rich men, despots ; the poor, banditti ; 
Sloth in the mart, and schism within the temple ; 
Brawls festering to rebellion, and weak laws 
Rotting away with rust in antique sheaths. 



108 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

I have re-created France ; and, from the ashes 
Of the old feudal and decrepit carcass, 
Civilization, on her luminous wings, 
Soars, phoenix-like, to Jove ! What was my art ? 
Genius, some say; some, fortune; witchcraft, some. 
Not so. My art was Justice! 



Lesson VII. 



REGISTER. 

In its mechanism, pitch is dependent on the following: 

1. Length of the vocal cords. 

2. Size of the vocal cords. 

3. Elasticity of the vocal cords. 

4. Tension of the vocal cords. 

5. Space between the vocal cords. 

6. Position of the larynx. 

7. Flexibility of the larynx. 

8. Degree of expiratory power. 

Other things being equal, the pitch is lower in proportion 
as the vocal cords are longer or larger. Enlarging the space 
between the vocal cords, or depressing the larynx, or dimin- 
ishing the expiratory power, tends to lower the pitch. 
The greater the elasticity of the vocal cords, and the more 
flexible the larynx, the greater is the compass of the voice. 

Lower Register. 

Vowel Practice. — Utter the mutable vowel sounds in pitch 
gradually descending from the medium to the lowest possible. 
The instructor will know that the student has touched his 
lowest limit as soon as the voice begins to surrender to aspi- 
ration. Another evidence of the approaching limit is dim- 
inution of volume. 

Caution, — Do not try too hard to reach a very low key. 
Tension is fatal to low key. The lowest pitch is the product 



MODULATION. 109 

of the completest relaxation of the vocal apparatus. What- 
ever depresses, suppresses, secretes, or degrades, tends to 
lower the key. 

At the close of a few weeks of diligent practice the be- 
ginner will be delighted to learn how much has been gained, 
both in volume and in compass. 

Illustrations. 

1. Dead, your majesty. Dead, my lords and gentlemen. Dead, 
right reverends and wrong reverends of every order. Dead, men 
and women, born with heavenly compassion in your hearts ; and 
dying thus around us every day. dickens. 

2. In silence, and at night, the conscience feels that life should 
soar to nobler ends than power. So sayest thou, sage and sober 
moralist! But wert thou tried? ye safe and formal men, who 
write the deeds, and with unfeverish hand weigh in nice scales 
the motives of the great, ye can not know what ye have never 
tried. bulwer. 

3. Come to the bridal chamber, Death! 
Come to the mother when she feels 
For the first time her first-born's breath ; 
Come in consumption's ghastly form, 
The earthquake shock, the ocean storm ; 
Come when the heart beats high and warm, 

With banquet song, and dance, and wine, 
And thou art terrible ; the tear, 
The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier. 
And all we know, or dream, or fear, 

Of agony, are thine. halleck. 

BIRTHDAY REFLECTIONS. 

Another year 
Has parted, and its knell is sounding now 
O'er the Past's silent ocean. Ah ! it is 
An hour for tears ! There is a specter-form 
In memory's voiceless chambers, pointing now 
Its dim, cold finger to the beautiful 
And holy visions that have passed away, 
And left no shadow of their loveliness 



110 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY, 

On the dead waste of life. That specter lifts 

The coffin-lid of dear, remembered Love, 

And, bending mournfully above the pale, 

Sweet form that slumbers there, scatters dead flowers 

O'er what is gone forever. 

I am not 
As in the years of boyhood. There were hours 
Of joyousness that came like angel-shapes 
Upon my heart; but they are altered now, 
And rise on memory's view like statues pale 
By a dim fount of tears. And there were springs, 
Upon whose stream the sweet young blossoms leaned 
To list the gush of music; but their depths 
Are turned to dust. There, too, were holy lights, 
That shone, sweet rainbows of the spirit, o'er 
The skies of new existence ; but their gleams, 
Like the lost Pleiad of the olden time. 
Have faded from my vision, and are lost 
'Mid the cold mockeries of earth. 

Alone! — 
I am alone! The guardians of my young 
And sinless years have gone, and left me here 
A solitar)^ wanderer. Their low tones 
Of love oft swell upon the evening winds. 
Or wander sweetly down through falling dews 
At midnight's still and melancholy hour; 
But voice alone is there. Ages of thought 
Come o'er me there; and, with a spirit won 
Back to its earlier years, I kneel again 
At young life's broken shrine. 

The thirst of power 
Has been a fever to my spirit. Oft, 
Even in my childhood, I was wont to gaze 
Upon the swollen cataract rushing down 
With its eternal thunder-peal ; the far 
Expanse of ocean, with its infinite 
Of stormy waters roaring to the heavens ; 
The night-storm fiercely rending the great oaks 
From their rock pinnacles; the giant clouds 
Tossing their plumes like warriors in the sky. 
And hurling their keen lightnings ^through the air 



MODULATION. Ill 

Like the red flash of swords. Ay, I was wont 

To gaze on these, and almost wept to think 

I could not match their strength. The same wild thirst 

For power is yet upon me: it has been 

A madness in my day-dreams, and a curse 

Upon my being. It has led me on 

To mingle in the strife of men, and dare 

The Samiel-breath of hate ; and I am now, 

Even in the opening of my manhood's prime, 

One whom the world loves not. 

Well — it is well. 
There is a silent purpose in my heart ; 
And neither love, nor hate, nor fear, shall tame 
My own fixed daring. Though my being's stream 
Gives out no music now, 't is passing back 
To its far fountain in the heavens, and there 
'T will rest forever in the ocean-tide 
Of God's immensity. I will not mourn 
Life's shrouded memories. I can still drink in 
The unshadowed beauty of the universe, 
Gaze with a swelling soul upon the blue 
Magnificence above, and hear the hymn 
Of Heaven in every starlight ray, and fill 
Glen, hill, and vale, and mountain, with the bright 
And glorious visions poured from the deep home 
Of an immortal mind. Past year, farewell ! 

GEORGE D. PEENTICE. 

In these exercises what parts require the lowest pitch? 



Lesson VIII. 

MIDDIyE REGISTER. 

Common conversation, simple narration, plain description, 
moderation in all its forms, employ the medium key. 

Illustrations. 

1. Whatever the lagging, dragging journey may have been to 
the rest of the emigrants, it was a wonder and delight to the 
children, a world of enchantment; and they believed it to be 



112 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

peopled with the mysterious dwarfs and giants and gobhns that 
figured in the tales the negro slaves were in the habit of telling 
them, nightly, by the shuddering light of the kitchen fire. 

MARK TWAIN. 

2. Listeners, will you please cast your eyes over the follow- 
ing lines and see if you can find any thing harmful in them: 
Conductor, when you receive a fare, 
Punch in the presence of the passenjare! 
A blue trip-slip for an eight-cent fare, 
A buff trip-slip for a six-cent fare, 
A pink trip-slip for a three-cent fare. 
Punch in the presence of the passenjare ! 

CHORUS. 

Punch, brothers, punch, punch with care ; 
Punch in the presence of the passenjare! 

MARK TWAIN. 

8. On the first day of March it was, that Tommy Taft had been 
unquietly sleeping in the forenoon, to make up for a disturbed 
night. The little noisy clock that regarded itself as the essence 
of a Yankee, and ticked with immense alacrity and struck in the 
most bustling and emphatic manner, — this industrious and moral 
clock began striking whir-r-r, one ; whir-r-r, two ; whir-r-r, three 
(Tommy jerked his head a little as if something vexed him in 
his sleep) ; whir-r-r, four ; whir-r-r, five ; whir-r-r, six (" Keep 
still, will ye? Let me alone, old w^oman! Confound your medi- 
cine!"); whir-r-r, seven; whir-r-r, eight (*' God in heaven! as 
sure as I live," said Tommy, rubbing his eyes as if to make sure 
he saw aright) ; whir-r-r, nine; whir-r-r, ten! Then holding out 
his arms with the simplicity of a child, his face fairly glowing 
-w^th joy, and looking now really noble, he cried: "Barton, my 
boy, Barton, I knew you would n't let the old man die and not 
help him! I knew it! I knew it !" ii. w. beecher. 

4. The Sabbath day was ending in a village by the sea, 
The uttered benediction touched the people tenderly. 
And they rose to face the sunset, in the glowing, lighted west, 
And then hastened to their dwellings for God's blessed boon 
of rest! farningham. 

Analyze the exercises in this lesson so far as pitch is 
concerned. 



MODULATION. 113 



HAMLET'S ELOCUTIONARY ADVICE. 

Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you — 
trippingly on the tongue ; but if you moutli it, as many of our 
players do, I had as lief the town-crier spake my lines. Nor do 
not saw the air too much with your hand, thus ; but use all gently ; 
for in the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, whirlwind of 
your passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may 
give it smoothness. 0, it offends me to the soul, to hear a robus- 
tious, periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, 
to split the ears of the groundlings ; who, for the most part, are 
capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb show, and noise. I 
would have such a fellow whipped for o'erdoing Termagant: it 
out-herods Herod. Pray you, avoid it. 

Be not too tame neither, but let your own discretion be your 
tutor. Suit the action to the word, the word to the action: with 
this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of 
nature ; for any thing so overdone is from the purpose of playing, 
whose end, both at the first and now, was, and is, to hold, as 
't were, the mirror up to nature ; to show virtue her own feature, 
scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time 
his form and pressure. Now this, overdone or come tardy off, 
though it make the unskillful laugh, can not but make the judi- 
cious grieve ; the censure of which one, must, in your allowance, 
o'erweigh a whole theater of others. 0, there be players, that I 
have seen play — and heard others praise, and that highly — not to 
speak it profanely, that, neither having the accent of Christians, 
nor the gait of Christian, pagan, or man, have so strutted and 
bellowed, that I have thought some of nature's journeymen had 
made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity so 
abominably! shakespeaee. 



Lesson IX. 

UPPER REGISTER. 



Give the vowel sounds in keys steadily ascending from 
the medium pitch to the highest that can be attained without 
strain. 

Suggestion. — A wrinkling of the forehead does not aid the 
voice in its upward flight. The tendency to rise upon the 

10 



1 14 ELOCUTION AND ORA TOR Y. 

toes should be restrained, as this does not conduce to high- 
ness of pitch. Shrugging, contorting, or elevating the 
shoulders may be omitted, as such action is as ungainly as 
it is unnecessary. Last but not least : Do not congest the 
throat. There is no pitch in the entire vocal range that can 
not be reached without damage to the vocal apparatus. 

Gayety, vivacity, hilarity, joyousness, spirituality — what- 
ever exalts or exhilarates — employs tones in the upper reg- 
ister. To these upper keys belong the shout of victory, the 
cry of alarm, the shriek of fear, and the wail of despair. 

Illustrations. 

1, Hurrah ! the foes are moving ! Hark to the mingled din 

Of life, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin! 
The fiery duke is pricking fast across Saint Andre's plain. 
With all the hireling chivalry of Guilders and Almayne. 
Now, by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France, 
Charge for the golden lilies now — upon them with the lance ! 

MACAULAY. 

2. "Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, 

upstarting ; 
"Get thee back into the tempest and the night's Plutonian 

shore ! 
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath 

spoken ! 
Leave my loneliness unbroken! quit the bust above my 

door! 
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from 

ofi" my door! " 

Quoth the raven : " Nevermore ! " poe. 

3. "Pull, if ye never pulled before; 

Good ringers pull your best," quoth he. 
" Play up, play up, O Boston bells ! 
Play all your changes, all your swells. 

Play up, The Brides of Enderby." ingelow. 

4. And see ! she stirs ! 

She starts — she moves — she seems to feel 
The thrill of life along her keel. 



MODULATION. 115 

And, spurning Avith her feet the ground, 

With one exulting, joyous bound, 

She leaps into the ocean's arms! long fellow. 

5. "Hi! Harry Holly! Halt, and tell 
A fellow just a thing or two ; 
You 've had a furlough, been to see 

How all the folks in Jersej^ do ! " ethel lynn 

MARMION AND DOUGLAS. 

Not far advanced was morning day, 
When Marmion did his troop array, 

To Surrey's camp to ride ; 
He had safe conduct for his band, 
Beneath the royal seal and hand. 

And Douglas gave a guide. 
The ancient earl, with stately grace. 
Would Clara on her palfrey place, 
And whispered in an undertone, 
" Let the hawk stoop, — his prey is flown." 
The train from out the castle drew, 
But Marmion stopped to bid adieu. 

" Though something I might 'plain," he said, 
" Of cold respect to stranger guest, 
Sent hither by your king's behest, 

While in Tantallon's tow^ers I stayed. 
Part we in friendship from your land. 
And, noble earl, receive my hand." 
But Douglas round him drew his cloak, 
Folded his arms, and thus he spoke : 
" My manors, halls, and bowers shall still 
Be open, at my sovereign's will. 
To each one whom he lists, howe'er 
Unmeet to be the owner's peer ; 
My castles are my king's alone, 
From turret to foundation-stone, — 
The hand of Douglas is his own, 
And never shall in friendly grasp 
The hand of such as Marmion clasp." 

Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire, 
And shook his very frame for ire, 
And— "This to me!" he said. 



116 - ELOCUTION AND ORATORY, 

"An 'twere not for thy hoary beard, 
Such hand as Marmion's had not spared 

To cleave the Douglas' head ! 
And, first, I tell thee, haughty peer, 
He who does England's message here, 
Although the meanest in her state, 
May well, proud Angus, be thy mate ! 
And, Douglas, more I tell thee here, 

Even in thy pitch of pride — 
Here in thy hold, thy vassals near 
(Nay, never look upon your lord. 
And lay your hands upon your sword), 

I tell thee thou 'rt defied ! 
And if thou said'st I am not peer 
To any lord in Scotland here. 
Lowland or Highland, far or near. 

Lord Angus, thou hast lied !" 
On the earl's cheek the flush of rage 
O'ercame the ashen hue of age. 
Fierce he broke forth : "And dar'st thou then 
To beard the lion in his den, 

The Douglas in his hall ? 
And hop'st thou hence unscathed to go ? 
No; by St. Bride of Bothwell, no! 
Up drawbridge, grooms ! — What, warder, ho ! 

Let the portcullis fall !" 
Lord Marmion turned — well was his need ! — 
And dashed the rowels in his steed, 
Like arrow through the archway sprung ; 
The ponderous grate behind him rung ; 
To pass there was such scanty room, 
The bars, descending, razed his plume. 
The steed along the drawbridge flies, 
Just as it trembled on the rise ; 
Not lighter does the swallow skim 
Along the smooth lake's level brim ; 
And when Lord Marmion reached his band. 
He halts, and turns with clenched hand, 
And shout of loud defiance pours, 
And shook his gauntlet at the towers. 
"Horse! horse!" the Douglas cried, "and chase!" 
But soon he reined his fury's pace : 



MODULATION. 117 

" A royal messenger he came, 
Though most unworthy of the name. 

St. Mary, mend my fiery mood ! 
Old age ne'er cools the Douglas blood, 
I thought to slay him where he stood. 
'T is pity of him, too," he cried ; 
" Bold can he speak and fairly ride, 
I warrant him a warrior tried." 
With this his mandate he recalls. 
And slowly seeks his castle walls. 

SIR WALTER SCOTT. 

Analyze the exercises in this lesson. What portions 
require the highest pitch? what the lowest? 



Lesson X. 

POWER. 



Theee are two forms of power: moral and physical. 
The two do not always coincide. There may be a manifes- 
tation of much physical power, with scarce a semblance of 
moral power. Great moral force may be extracted from 
words, with seemingly but little outward physical effort. 
Indeed, external self-subjugation is frequently the very life 
of moral and magnetic influence. 

The speaker, singer, or actor, never scores a greater 
triumph than when, having the bearing of perfect poise, he 
makes the beholder feel that beneath his outward repose 
there is throbbing a volcano of passion. 

For the present, we shall treat of the physical phase of 
force. Note this word of warning : Do not strain the voice ! 
Do not try to reach the top-round of the vocal ladder with- 
out touching the rounds below. Bide your time. The art of 
Elocution is not mastered in a day. Do not allow any one 
to beguile yoii into overexertion. One moment of such 



118 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

indiscretion may cost you your voice. There are instances of 
partial adhesion of the vocal cords. In proportion to the 
amount of adhesion, is the compass of the voice lessened. A 
teacher, ambitious to see his pupil progress, and ignorant of 
the vocal mechanism, is liable to be betrayed into the inflic- 
tion of an irreparable injury. The law should not allow one 
to undertake the direction of the human voice who is ig- 
norant of the vocal mechanism, and of the laws underlying 
the art of vocal culture. To murder the voice is a crime. 

There are too many teachers who trust too much to in- 
spiration. They have what they are pleased to call ''divine 
afflatus" — a most dangerous thing in the hands of igno- 
rance — and with this as their sole stock in trade, they set 
about ensnaring the unsuspecting. Parents can not be too 
careful in deciding who shall conduct the vocal training of 
their children in either speech or song. 

Slight Propelling Power. — Secrecy, feebleness, inde- 
cision, restraint, and like emotions, employ but little force. 

Illustrations. 

1. "Now, Barton, my boy, you 've done a good thing. I 've 
been waiting for you all winter, and you did n't come a minute 
too soon. I 'm tired now, but I w^ant to say one thing. Barton, 
when I'm gone, you w'on't let the old woman suffer? She's 
had a pretty hard time of it with me ! I knew you would n't. 
One thing more, Barton, you knoW' I never had much money. I 
never laid up any — could n't. Now you won't let me come on 
to the town for a funeral, will ye ? I should hate to be buried 
in a pine coffin, at town expense, and have folks laugh at me 
that didn't dare open their head to me w^ien I was 'round 

town." H, W. BEECHER. 

2. "There they laid him as wos wery good to me; wery good 
to me indeed, he w^os. It 's time for me to go down to that 
there berryin ground, sir, and ask to be put along with him. I 
w^ant to go there and be berried. He used fur to say to me : * I 
am as poor as you to-day, Jo,' he sez. I w^ants to tell him that 
I am as poor as him now, and have come there to be laid along 
with him." dickens. 



MODULATION. 119 

3. She was dead and past all help or need of it. The an- 
cient rooms she had seemed to fill with life, even while her own 
was ebbing fast ; the garden she had tended ; the eyes she had 
gladdened ; the noiseless haunts of many a thoughtless hour ; 
the paths she had trodden as if it were but yesterday, — could 
know her no more. dickens. 

DEATH OF LiTTlvE NKlvL. 

She was dead. No sleep so beautiful and calm, so free from 
trace of pain, so fair to look upon. She seemed a creature fresh 
from the hand of God, and waiting for the breath of life ; not one 
who had lived and sufifered death. 

Her couch was dressed with, here and there, some winter 
berries and green leaves, gathered in a spot she had been used 
to favor. ''When I die, put near me something that has loved 
the light, and had the sky above it always." These were her 
words. 

She was dead. Dear, gentle, patient, noble Nell was dead. 
Her little bird — a poor slight thing the pressure of a finger would 
have crushed — was stirring nimbly in its cage ; and the strong 
heart of its child-mistress was mute and motionless forever. 

Where were the traces of her early cares, her sufferings and 
fatigues ? All gone. This was the true death before their weep- 
ing eyes. Sorrow was dead indeed in her, but peace and perfect 
happiness were born ; imaged in her tranquil beauty and pro- 
found repose. 

And still her former self lay there, unaltered in this change. 
Yes. The old fireside had smiled on that same sweet face ; it 
had passed like a dream through haunts of misery and care. At 
the door of the poor schoolmaster on the summer evening, be- 
fore the furnace-fire upon the cold, wet night, at the still bed- 
side of the dying boy, there had been the same mild, lovely look. 
So shall we know the angels in their majesty, after death. 

The old man held one languid arm in his, and kept the 
small hand tight folded to his breast for warmth. It was the 
hand she had stretched out to him vrith her last smile — the hand 
that had led him on through all their wanderings. Ever and 
anon he passed it to his lips, then hugged it to his breast again, 
murmuring that it was warmer now ; and as he said it, he looked, 
in agony, to those who stood around, as if imploring them to 
help her. 

She was dead and past all help, or need of it. The ancient 



120 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

rooms she had seemed to fill with life, even while her own was 
ebbing fast ; the garden she had tended ; the eyes she liad glad- 
dened ; the noiseless haunts of many a thoughtless hour ; the 
paths she had trodden as if it were but yesterday — could know 
her no more. 

"It is not," said the schoolmaster, as he bent down to kiss 
her on her cheek, and give his teiirs free vent — "it is not in this 
world that Heaven's justice ends. Think what it is compared 
with the world to which her young spirit has winged its early 
flight, and say, if one deliberate wish expressed in solemn terms 
above this bed could call her back to life, which of us would 
utter it!" dickens. 

In these exercises Avhat words or clauses require the lowest 
keys ? the slightest force ? the highest keys ? the greatest force? 
Give reasons. 



Lesson XI. 



MODERATE PROPELLING POWER. 

The entire temperate zone of thought requires the mod- 
erate use of force. 

Illustrations. 

1. No day so bright but scuds may fall, 

No day so still but Avinds may blow; 

No morn so dismal with the pall 

Of wintry storm, but stars may glow 

When evening gathers, over all. Holland. 

2. Should not we, too, go as strictly and as ingeniously to 
work, seeing that we practice an art far more delicate than that 
of music; seeing we are called on to express the commonest 
and the strangest emotions of human nature, with elegance, and 
so as to delight ? Can any thing be more shocking than to slur 
over our rehearsal, and in overacting to depend on good luck, or 
the capricious chance of the moment? Why is the master of the 
band more secure about his music than the manager about his play? 
Because, in the orchestra, each individual would feel ashamed of 
his mistakes, which oflend the outward ear ; but how seldom have 



MODULATION. 121 

I found an actor disposed to acknowledge or feel ashamed of his 
mistakes, by which the ear is so outrageously offended ! I could 
wish, for my part, that our theaters were as narrow as the wire 
of the rope-dancer, that no inept fellow might dare to intrude on 
it ; instead of being as it is, a place where every one discovers in 
himself capacity enough to flourish and parade. goethe. 

THE WATER-MIIvL. 

Listen to the water-mill, through the livelong day. 
How the clicking of the wheels wears the hours awaj'^ ! 
Languidly the autumn wind stirs the greenwood leaves ; 
From the fields the reapers sing, binding up the sheaves ; 
And a proverb haunts my mind, as a spell is cast : 
The mill will never grind with the water that is past. 

Autumn winds revive no more leaves that once are shed, 
And the sickle can not reap the corn once gathered ; 
And the rippling stream flows on, tranquil, deep, and still, 
Never gliding back again to the water-mill. 
Truly speaks the proverb old, with a meaning vast: 
The mill will never grind with the water that is past. 

Take the lesson to thyself, loving heart, and true : 
Golden years are fleeting by ; youth is passing, too ; 
Learn to make the most of life, lose no happj^ day ; 
Time v/ill never bring thee back chances swept away. 
Leave no tender word unsaid, love while love shall last: 
The mill will never grind with the water that is past. 

Work while yet the daylight shines, man of strength and will, 

Never does the streamlet glide useless by the mill ; 

"Wait not till to-morrow's sun beams upon thy way ; 

All that thou canst call thy own lies in thy to-day; 

Power, intellect, and health may not always last: 

The mill will never grind with the water that is past. 

O, the wasted hours of life that have drifted by ; 
0, the good we might have done, lost without a sigh ! 
Love that we once might have saved by a single word ; 
Thoughts conceived, but never penned, perishing unheard; 
Take the proverb to thine heart, take and hold it fast: 
The mill will never grind with the water that is past. 
11 



122 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

O, love thy God and fellow-man, thyself consider last ; 
For come it will when thou must scan dark errors of the past; 
And when the fight of life is o'er, and earth recedes from view, 
And Heaven, in all its glory, shines amid the good and true, 
Then you'll see more clearly still the proverb deep and vast: 
The mill can never grind M'ith the water that is past. 

m'callum. 

The instructor should require an analysis of the com- 
parative force with which various parts of the exercises in 
this lesson should be given. 



lyESSON XII. 

GREAT PROPELLING POWER. 

Impetuosity, indignation, denunciation, frenzy, and ha- 
tred — intensity in any form — calls for a corresponding degree 
of propelling power. 

Illustrations. 

1. Fierce he broke forth: "And dar'st thou then 
To beard the lion in his den, 

The Douglas in his hall ? 
And hop'st thou hence unscathed to go? 
No ! by Saint Bride of Both well, no ! 
Up drawbridge, grooms ! — What, warder, ho ! 

Let the portcullis fall!" — scott. 

2. Hear the loud alarum bells, — 

Brazen bells ! 
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells! 

In the startled ear of night 
How they scream out their affright ! 
Too much horrified to speak. 
They can only shriek, shriek. 

Out of tune, 
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, 
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire^ 



MODULATION. 123 

Leaping higher, higher, higher. 

With a desperate desire, 

And a resolute endeavor, 

Now — now to sit, or never. 

By the side of the pale-faced moon 

O the bells, bells, bells, 
• What a tale their terror tells 
Of despair! 
How they clang, and clash, and roar ! 
What a horror they outpour 
On the bosom of the palpitating air ! poe. 

3. If thou should'st in those waters thy diadem fling, 
And cry, "Who may find it shall win it and wear," 
God wot, though the prize were the crown of a king — 
A crown at such hazards were valued too dear. 

SCHILLER. 

4. And rearing Lindis backward pressed. 
Shook all her trembling banks amaine, 
Then inadly at the eygre's breast 

Flung uppe her weltering walls againe. 
Then banks came downe with ruin and rout ; 
Then beaten foam flew round about ; 
Then all the mighty floods were out. 

INGELOW. 

THE OLD "CONSTITUTION." 

The famous old frigate, Constitution, was formally put out of commission at 
the Brooklyn Navy-yard on Thursday, December 15, 1881. and placed in " Rotten 
Eow," to be either broken up or allowed to gradually fall to pieces. Her keel 
was laid in 1794, and she was the third vessel built for the United States after the 
adoption of the Constitution. She has always held a place in the affections of 
the American people equaled by no other ship; and when, in 1860, it was pro- 
posed to dismantle and break her up, a storm of indignation arose to which the 
Government was forced to yield. This stirring protest was contributed by Oliver 
Wendell Holmes, and it has become a standard piece of American literature : 

Ay, tear her tattered ensign down ! 

Long has it waved on high, 
And many an eye has danced to see 

That banner in the sky. 
Beneath it rang the battle-shout, 

And burst the cannon's roar; 
The meteor of the ocean air 

Shall sweep the clouds no more. 



i 



124 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

Her deck, once red with heroes' blood — 

Where knelt the vanquished foe, 
When winds were humming o'er the floods 

And waves were white below — 
No more shall feel the victors' tread, 

Or know the conquered knee; 
The harpies of the shore shall pluck 

The eagle of the sea ! 

O, better that her shattered hulk 

Should sink beneath the wave! 
Her thunders shook the mighty deep, 

And there should be her grave. 
Nail to the mast her holy flag ; 

Set every threadbare sail, 
And give her to the god of storms, 

The lightning and the gale ! 

O. W. HOLMES. 

What passages in this lesson require the greatest force? 



lyESSON XIII. 
VOLUME. 

Other things being equal, an increase of the expiratory 
power ; an enlargement of the buccal or glottal aperture ; 
an increase in the size of the larynx, — all tend to increase 
the volume of the voice. 

Slight Volume. — Secrecy, timidity, debility, — what- 
ever is suppressed or subjugated requires but little volume. 

Illustrations. 

1. And soldiers whisper : " Boys, be still ; 
There 's some bad news from Granger's folks." 

ETHEL LYNN. 

2. Then answers he : "Ah ! Hal, I '11 try, 

But in my throat there 's something chokes, 
Because, you see, I Ve thought so long 
To count her in among our folks. 



MODULATION. 125 

I s'pose she must be happy now, 

But still I will keep thinking, too, 
I could have kept all trouble off, 

By being tender, kind, and true. 
But may be not. She 's safe up there, 

And when His hand deals other strokes, 
She '11 stand by heaven's gate, I know, 

And wait to welcome in our folks." 

ETHEL LYNN. 

3. " Move my arm-chair, faithful Pompey, 

In the sunshine bright and strong ; 
For this world is fading, Pompey — 

Massa won't be with you long ; 
And I fain would hear the south-wind 

Bring once more the sound to me 
Of the wavelets softly breaking 

On the shores of Tennessee." e. l. beees. 

4. This is all that I remember! The last time the lighter came. 
And the lights had all been lowered, and the noises much the 

same. 
He had not been gone five minutes when something called 

my name: 
"Orderly Sergeant Robert Burton!" just that way it called 

my name. f. willson. 

5. If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere well 
It were done quickly : if the assassination 
Could trammel up the consequence, and catch, 
With his surcease, success ; that but this blow 
Might be the be-all and the end-all here, 
But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, — 
We 'd jump the life to come. shakespeare. 

DEATH OF LITTLE JO. 

Jo is very glad to see his old friend ; and says, when they are 
left alone, that he takes it uncommon kind as Mr. Snagsby should 
come so far out of his way on accounts of sich as him. Mr. 
Snagsby, touched by the spectacle before him, immediately lays 
upon the table half a crown, that magic balsam of his for all kinds 
of wounds. 

"And how do you find yourself, my poor lad?" inquires the 
stationer, with his cough of sympathy. 



126 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

" I 'm in luck, Mr. Snagsby, I am," returns Jo, " and do n't 
want for nothink. I'm more cumf'bler nor you can 't think, Mr. 
Snagsby. I 'm wery sorry that I. done it, but I did n't go fur to 
do it, sir." 

The stationer softly lays down another half-crown, and asks 
him what it is that he is sorry for having done. 

"Mr. Snagsby," says Jo, "I went and giv a illness to the 
lady as wos and yet as war n't the t' other lady, and none of 'em 
never says nothink to me for having done it, on accounts of their 
being so good and my having been so unfortnet. The lady come 
herself and see me yes'day, and she ses, 'Ah, Jo! ' she ses. ' We 
thought we'd lost you, Jo ! ' she ses. And she sits down a smilin' 
so quiet, and do n't pass a word noi- yit a look upon me for hav- 
ing done it, she do n't ; and I turns agin the wall, I doos, Mr. 
Snagsby. And Mr. Jarnders, I see him a forced to turn away 
his own self. And Mr. Woodcot, he come fur to give me some- 
think fur to ease me, wot he 's alius a doin' on day and night, 
and when he come a bendin' over me and a speakin' up so bold, 
I see his tears a fallin', Mr. Snagsby." 

The softened stationer deposits another half-crown on the 
table. Nothing less than a repetition of that infallible remedy 
will relieve his feelings. 

"Wot I wos thinkin' on, Mr. Snagsby," proceeds Jo, "wos, 
as you wos able to write wery large, p'raps?" 

" Yes, Jo, please God," returns the stationer. 

"Uncommon precious large, p'raps ?" says Jo, with eagerness. 

" Yes, my poor boy." 

Jo laughs with pleasure. " Wot I was thinkin' on, then, Mr. 
Snagsby, wos, that wen I wos moved on as fur as ever I could 
go, and could n't be moved no furder, whether you might be so 
good, p'raps, as to write out, wery large, so that any one could see 
it anywheres, as that I wos wery truly hearty sorry that I done 
it, and that I never went fur to do it; and that though I did n't 
know nothink at all, I know'd as Mr. Woodcot once cried over it, 
and wos alius grieved over it, and that I hoped as he 'd be able 
to forgive me in his mind. If the writin' could be made to say 
it wery large, he might." 

"It shall say it, Jo; very large." 

Jo laughs again. " Thankee, Mr. Snagsby. It 's wery kind 
of you, sir, and it makes me more cumf'bler nor I wos afore." 

The meek little stationer, with a broken and unfinished 
cough, slips down his fourth half-crown— he has never been so 



MODULATION. 127 

close to a case requiring so many — and is fain to depart. And 
Jo and he, upon this httle earth, shall meet no more. No more. 

(Another Scene. — Enter Mr. Woodcot.) 

"Well, Jo, what is the matter? Don't be frightened." 

" I thought," says Jo, who has started, and is looking round, 
" I thought I was in Tom-all- Alone's agin. An't there nobody 
here but you, Mr. Woodcot?" 

'•' Nobody." 

"And I ain't took back to Tom-all-Alone's, am I sir?" 

" No." 

Jo closes his eyes, muttering, " I am wery thankful." 

After watching him closely a little while, Allan puts his 
mouth very near his ear, and says to him in a low, distinct voice : 
"Jo, did you ever know a prayer?" 

" Never know'd nothink, sir." 

" Not so much as one short prayer ? '* 

" No, sir. Nothink at all. Mr. Chadbands he wos a pray in' 
wunst at Mr. Snagsby's, and I heerd him ; but he sounded as if 
he was a-speakin' to hisself, and not to me. He prayed a lot, but 
I could n't make out nothink on it. Different times there wos 
other gen'l'men come down Tom-all-Alone's a-prayin', but they 
all mostly sed as the t'other wuns prayed wrong, and all mostly 
sounded to be a-talkin' to theirselves, or a-passin' blame on 
t'others, and not a-talkin' to us. We never know'd nothink. I 
never know'd what it wos all about." 

It takes him a long time to say this ; and few but an ex- 
perienced and attentive listener could hear, or, hearing, under- 
stand him. After a short relapse into sleep or stupor, he makes, 
of a sudden, a strong effort to get out of bed. 

" Stay, Jo, stay ! What now ? " 

"It's time for me to go to that there berryin'-ground, sir," 
he returns with a wild look. 

" Lie down, and tell me. • What burying-ground, Jo ?" 

" Where they put him as wos wery good to me ; wery good 
to me, indeed he wos. It 's time for me to go down to that there 
berryin'-ground, sir, and ask to be put along with him. He used 
fur to say to me, ' I am as poor as you to-day, Jo,' he ses. I 
wants to tell him that I am as poor as him now, and have come 
there to be laid along with him." 

" By and by, Jo ; by and by." 

"Ah! P'raps they wouldn't do it if I wos to go myself. 



128 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

But will you promise to have me took there, sir, and laid along 
with him?" 

" I will, indeed." 

"Thankee, sir! Thankee, sir! They'll have to get the key 
of the gate afore they can take me in, for it 's alius locked. And 
there 's a step there as I used fur to clean with my broom. It 's 
turned wery dark, sir. Is there any light a comin' ? " 

" It is coming fast, Jo." 

Fast. The cart is shaken all to pieces, and the rugged road is 
very near its end. 

" Jo, my poor fellow ! " 

" I hear you, sir, in the dark, but I 'm a gropin' — a gropin' ; 
let me catch hold of your hand." 

" Jo, can you say what I say?" 

" I '11 say anythink as you say, sir, for I knows it 's good." 

**OuR Father." 

" Our Father !— yes, that 's wery good, sir." 

" Which art in Heaven." 

"Art in Heaven ! — Is the light a comin', sir ? " 

" It is close at hand. Hallowed be thy name." 

" Hallowed be— thy — name ! " 

The light is come upon the dark benighted way. Dead. 

Dead, your majesty. Dead, my lords and gentlemen. Dead, 
right reverends and wrong reverends of every order. Dead, men 
and women, born with heavenly compassion in your hearts; 
and dying thus around us every day. dickens. 

What parts of the exercises in this lesson should be read 
with slightest voice? In the "Death of Little Joe" how 
many characters are represented? How many are to be 
impersonated? What quality of voice should be used in 
impersonating Little Joe? what, Mr. Woodcot? 



Lesson XIV. 

MODERATE VOIvUME. 

Calmness, repose, quietude, moderation in general, finds 
expression through the medium of moderate volume. 



MODULATION. 129 



Illustrations. 

1. Clear and cold and passionless, pure intellect looks down 
from its calm heights upon surging, pulsating humauity, immov- 
able as the snow-crowned crest of Mont Blanc while whelming 
avalanches thunder below. No warm flush of sympathy prompts 
to fly to the rescue and assuage the woe. Grand and wonderful, 
indeed, is reason ; but as one star diS'ers from another in glory, 
so does the moral and spiritual nature of man transcend the intel- 
lectual, in its relations to the happiness and destiny of the race. 

NEWTON BATEMAN. 

2. Now, a living force that brings to itself all the resources of 
imagination, all the inspirations of feeling, all that is influential 
in body, in voice, in eye, in gesture, in posture, in the whole 
animated man, is in strict analogy with the divine thought and 
the divine arrangement ; and there is no misconstruction more 
utterly untrue and fatal than this : that oratory is an artificial 
thing, which deals with baubles and trifles, for the sake of making 
bubbles of pleasure for transient effect on mercurial audiences. 
So far from that, it is the consecration of the whole man to the 
noblest purposes to which one can address himself — the education 
and inspiration of his fellow-men by all that there is in learning, 
by all that there is in thought, by all that there is in feeling, by 
all that there is in all of them, sent home through the channels 
of taste and beauty. And so regarded, oratory should take its 
place among the highest departments of education. 

H. W. BEECHEK. 

THE CRICKET. 

The cricket dwells in the cold, cold ground, 

At the foot of the old oak tree, 
And all through the lengthened autumn night 

A merry song sings he. 
He whistles a clear and merry tune 
By the sober light of the silver moon. 

The winds may moan 

With a hollow tone 
All through the leaves of the rustling tree ; 

The clouds may fly 

Through the deep blue sky. 
The flowers may droop and the brooklet sigh. 



130 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

But never a fig cares he ; 
He whistles a clear and merry tune 
By the sober light of the silver moon, 
All through the lengthened autumn night, 

And never a fig cares he. 

There 's a tiny cricket within thy heart, 

And a pleasant song sings he ; 
He sings of the mercies and goodness of God, 

That hourly fall upon thee. 
Let him whistle loud and clear. 
Never drown him in a tear ; 
There's darkness enough on earth, I trow, 
Without the gloom of a gloomy brow: — 
Darkness enough in the home of the poor, 
That never comes to thy lofty door. 

Forth with a smile, 

Their woe to beguile; 
Forth to lighten the heavy gloom ; 
Forth to brighten the clouded home, 
And cheer the soul that is shrouded in night; 

Tell it, in tones of love, 
Of hope on earth, and a land all bright — 

The Land of Life and Love ; 
And never fret that you can not get 
Just what you want while you travel here. 
Then let him whistle loud and clear ; 
Never drown him in a tear ; 
But all through the length of trouble's night 
Let him sing his merry song. anon. 

What passages in this lesson require more than a moderate 
volume ? what require less ? 



IvESSON XV. 
FULL VOLUME. 



Majesty, nobility, pomposity, ponderosity, and kindred 
conditions, find fit expression in the use of various degrees 
of vocal fullness. 



MODULATION. 131 



Illustrations. 

1. Age, thou art shamed ! 

Eome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods ! 

When went there by an age, since the great flood, 

But it Avas famed with more than with one man ? 

When could they say, till now, that talked of Rome, 

That her wide walls encompassed but one man ? 

Now is it Rome indeed, and room enough, 

When there is in it but ono only man. 

O, you and I have heard our fathers say. 

There was a Brutus once, that would have brooked 

Th' eternal devil to keep his state in Rome 

As easily as a king. shakespeaee. 

2. Praise ye the Lord. Praise ye the Lord from the heavens : 
praise him in the heights. Praise ye him, all his angels : praise 
ye him, all his hosts. Praise ye him, sun and moon : praise him, 
all ye stars of light. Praise him, ye heavens of heavens, and ye 
waters that be above the heavens. Let him praise the name of 
the Lord : for he commanded, and they were created. He hath 
also established them for ever and ever: he hath miade a decree 
which shall not pass. Praise the Lord from the earth, ye dragons 
and all deeps : fire and hail, snow and vapors ; stormy wind fulfill- 
ing his word: mountains and all hills, fruitful trees, and all 
cedars; beasts, and all cattle: creeping things, and flying fowl; 
kings of the earth and all people ; princes and all judges of the 
earth ; both young men and maidens ; old men and children : let 
them praise the name of the Lord : for his name alone is excel- 
lent ; his glory is above the earth and heaven. 

Praise ye the Lord. Praise God in his sanctuary : praise him 
in the firmament of his power. Praise him for his mighty acts : 
praise him according to his excellent greatness. Praise him with 
the sound of the trumpet: praise him with the psaltery and 
harp. Praise him with the timbrel and dance : praise him with 
stringed instruments and organs. Praise him upon the loud 
cymbals: praise him upon the high-sounding cymbals. Let 
every thing that hath breath praise the Lord. Praise ye the 
Lord. PSALMS. 

3. What, my lord, shall you tell me, on the passage to the 
scaffold Vvdiich that tyranny, of which you are only the interme- 



132 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY, 

diate minister, has erected for my murder, that I am accountable 
for all the blood that has been and will be shed in this struggle 
of the oppressed against the oppressor ? Shall you tell me this, 
and must I be so very a slave as not to repel it? I, who fear not 
to approach the Omnipotent Judge, to answer for the conduct of 
my whole life, am I to be appalled here before a mere remnant 
of mortality? by you, too, Who, if it were possible to collect all 
the innocent blood that you have caused to be shed, in your 
unhallowed ministry, in one great reservoir, your lordship might 
swim in it ! emmet. 

4. Mountains ! ye are proud and haughty things. Ye hurl 
defiance at the storm, the lightning, and the wind ; ye look down 
with deep disdain upon the thunder-cloud; ye scorn the devas- 
tating tempest ; ye despise the works of puny man ; ye shake 
your rock-ribbed sides with giant laughter, when the great earth- 
quake passes by. Ye stand as giant sentinels, and seem to say 
to the boisterous billows: "Thus far shalt thou come, and here 
shall thy proud waves be stayed ! " e. m. morse. 

APOSTROPHE TO THE OCEAN. 

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean — roll ! 

Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; 
Man marks the earth with ruin — his control 

Stops with the shore : — upon the watery plain 
' The wrecks are all thy deed ; nor doth remain 
A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, 

When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, 
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan. 
Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknowal 

The armaments, which thunderstrike the walls 

Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake, 
And monarchs tremble in their capitals ; 

The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make 

Their clay creator the vain title take 
Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war, — 

These are thy toys ; and, as the snowy flake. 
They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar 
Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar. 



MODULATION. 133 

Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee : — 
Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they ? 

Thy waters wasted them while they were free, 
And many a tyrant since ; their shores obey 
The stranger, slave, or savage ; their decay 

Has dried up realms to deserts. Not so thou — 
Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play ; 

Time writes no wrinkle on thy azure brow ; 

Such as Creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now ! 

Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form 
Glasses itself in tempests ! — in all time — 
Calm or convulsed, in breeze or gale or storm, 
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime 
Dark heaving — boundless, endless, and sublime! 

The image of Eternity ! the throne 

Of the Invisible ! — even from out thy slime 

The monsters of the deep are made ! Each zone 

Obeys thee ! Thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone ! 



In this lesson what words, clauses, and sentences, require 
full volume, slight volume, much force, little force, low pitch, 
high pitch ? 



I^KSSON XVI. 
QUALITY. 



Quality or Timbre depends on the condition, position, 
and use of the molding agents. The nose, mouth, throat, 
and lungs are lined with mucous membrane. Let the nasal 
membrane become inflamed, and the voice at once becomes 
impure. If the inflammation becomes chronic, the tone 
assumes a peculiar catarrhal quality. If the membrane in 
the throat becomes inflamed, the usual result is hardness, 
harshness, huskiness, hoarseness. Should the inflammation 
reach the membranous lining of the lungs, a deranged con- 
dition of the voice is the sequel. 



134 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

For those who appreciate health, soundness of throat, 
roundness and richness of voice, the following advice is offered : 

1. Never congest the throat. 

2. Make free use of the muscles of the chest. 

3. Waste no breath. 

4. Send the fully vocalized tone -through a pliant throat. 
To see that position influences the quality, try to produce 

the orotund with shut throat and mouth. 

That use of the molding agents is a condition on which 
quality depends, is self-evident. The molding agents are 
the lungs, throat, mouth, nose, and head. If the lungs act 
as the main sounding-board, the tone is pectoral; if the 
throat, guttural; if the mouth, oral; if the nose, nasal; if 
the head, falsetto. If all the agents participate in proper 
ratio, the tone is pure. The pure tone, rounded out into 
fullness of volume, constitutes the most captivating of all 
tones — the orotund. 

Pectoral Quality. — Sentiments of a gloomy, sad, sol- 
emn, sepulchral nature employ the somber, pectoral quality. 

Illustrations. 

1. Now a shroud of snow and silence over every thing was spread ; 
And but for this old blue mantle and the old hat on my head, 
I should not have even doubted, to this moment, I was dead; 
For my footsteps were as silent as the snow upon tlie dead. 

r. WILLSON. 

2. And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting 
On the pallid bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door; 
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, 
And the lamp-light o 'er him streaming throws his shadow on the 

floor ; _ 
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor 
Shall be lifted — nevermore. poe. 

3. They 're gone, they 're gone ! the glimmering spark hath fled ! 
The wife and child are numbered with the dead. 

On the cold earth, outstretched in solemn rest. 
The babe lay, frozen on its mother's breast. 



MODULATION. 135 

The gambler came at last ; but all was o 'er ! 

Dread silence reigned around : — the clock struck four ! 

COATES. 

• 4. Hear the tolling of the bells, — 
Iron bells ! 
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels ! 
In the silence of the night, 
How we shiver with affright 
At the melancholy menace of their tone ! 
For every sound that floats 
From the rust within their throats 

Is a groan. 
And the people, — ah, the people, — 
They that dwell up in the steeple, 

All alone. 
And who tolling, tolling, tolling, 

In that muffled monotone, 
Feel a glory in so rolling 

On the human heart a stone. 

And their king it is who tolls ; 
And he rolls, rolls, rolls, 

Eolls, 
A p?ean from the bells! 
And his merry bosom swells 
-" With the psean of the bells ! 
And he dances and he yells. 

Keeping time, time, time. 

In a sort of Eunic rhyme 

To the throbbing of the bells, — 

Of the bells, bells, bells,— 

To the sobbing of the bells ; 
Keeping time, time, time, 

As he knells, knells, knells, 
In a happy Runic rhyme. 

To the rolling of the bells. 

Of the bells, bells, bells,— 

To the tolling of the bells, 

Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, 

Bells, bells, bells, — 
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. poe. 



136 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

BURIAIv OF SIR JOHN MOORE. 

Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, 
As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; 

Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot 

O 'er the grave where our hero we buried. 

We buried him darkly, at dead of night, 

The sods with our bayonets turning; 
By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, 

And the lantern dimly burning. 

No useless coffin inclosed his breast, 

Nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; 

But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, 
With his martial cloak around him. 

Few and short were the prayers we said, 

And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; 
But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead. 

And we bitterly thought of the morrow. 

We thought, as we holloAved his narrow bed, 
And smoothed down his lonely pillow. 

That the foe and the stranger would tread o 'er his head, 
And we far away on the billow ! 

Lightly they '11 talk of the spirit that 's gone, 

And o 'er his cold ashes upbraid him ; 
But little he '11 reck, if they let him sleep on 

In the grave were a Briton has laid him. 

But half of our heavy task was done. 

When the clock struck the hour for retiring; 

And we heard the distant and random gun 
That the foe was sullenly firing. 

Slowly and sadly we laid him down. 

From the field of his fame fresh and gory ; 

We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, 
But we left him alone in his glory, 

CHARLES WOLPE. 

What parts of this lesson require the pectoral quality ? 
With what rate, force, and volume does the pectoral usually 
associate ? 



MODULATION. 137 

I.ESSON XVII. 

GUTTURAIv QUALITY. 

Anger, revenge, cootempt, hatred, derision, scorn — all 
the passions in their ugly, impure, perverted phases — tear 
their way through a closed and congested throat. That con- 
gestion must precede and prepare the way for them, seems to 
be a divine decree, as each such exhibition carries with it its 
own penalty. Believiug that the less we indulge in the use 
of the guttural, the better it is for health, both physically 
and morally, no examples are given here for practice. Feel 
assured that when occasion and feeling are ripe for their use, 
examples will be at hand in due malignancy. 

Oeal Quality. 

Tones that pass out directly through the mouth, gaining 
their chief resonance from the cavity of the mouth, are oral in 
their nature. These are the vowel tones. When wholly vo- 
calized, they are pure; and as the pure is so nearly related 
to the orotund, one set of examples — that under Orotund — 
will serve for each. 

Nasal Quality. 

In the imitations of certain provincialisms, in character- 
sketchings and impersonations, and in burlesque, there are 
times when the nasal quality seems a necessity. 

As life would be made sweeter were all occasions for the 
use of the guttural swept away, so life's pleasure would be en- 
hanced were there no nasal sounds in the English language. 
Especially does the pulpit suffer from the corrupting touch oi 
the nasal tone. There are untold thousands of speakers who, 
wittingly or unwittingly, impose it upon their fellow-man. 

In the majority of cases, victims of the nasal habit are ig- 
norant of their fault. Were they aware of the torture they 
inflict upon the ears of innocent and deserving friends, they 

12 



138 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY, 

would surely banish this enemy of vocal purity. In almost 
every case it may be easily overcome. The one cause of na- 
sality is obstruction of the nasal passages. If so much air is 
poured into the nose as to engorge the passages, the nasal 
tone is sure to result. 

Illustkations. 

1. "The bird can fly, an' why can 't I? 
Must we give in," says he with a grin, 
" That the bluebird an' phoebe are smarter 'n we be? 
Jest fold our hands an' see the swaller 
An' blackbird an' catbird beat us holler? 
Doos the little chatterin', sassy wren, 
No bigger 'n my thumb, know more 'n men ? 
Jest show me that ! ur prove 't the bat 
Hez got more brains than 's in my hat. 
An' I'll back down, an' not till then!" 

TROWBRIDGE. 

2. " Wal," said Sam Lawson, " after all, it was more Ike 
Babbitt's fault than 't was any body's. You see, Ike was allers 
for gettin' what he could out o' the town, and he would feed his 
sheep on the meetin'-house green. Somehow or other Ike's 
fences allers contrived to give out come Sunday, and up would come 
his sheep, and Ike was too pious to drive 'em back Sunday, and 
so there they was. He was talked to enough about it, cause, you 
see, to have sheep and lambs a ba'-a-n' and a blatin' all prayer 
and sermon time wa 'nt the thing. 'Member that old meetin'- 
house up to the north end, down under Blueberry hill? The 
land sort o' sloped down, so as a body had to go into the meetin'- 
house steppin' down instead o' up. h. b. stowb. 



I.KSSON XVIII. 



FALSETTO. 

In the shriek of fright, in the cry of frenzy, in child im- 
personation, in affecting the unusually high female voice, in 
burlesquing a foppish, hair-brained apology of a man, use 
the falsetto quality. 



MODULATION, 139 



Illustrations. 



1. P'ez, Dezus, 'et Santa Taus turn down to-night, 
An' b'ing us some p'esents before it is yight ; 
I want he should div' me a nice 'ittie s'ed, 
Wiv b'igbt sliinin' 'unners, an' all painted j^ed ; 
A box full of tan'y, a book, an' a toy. 
Am^n, an' den, Dezus, I be a dood boy. 

S. p. SNOW. 

2. I 've seen mair mice than you, guid man ; 
An' what think ye o' that ? 
Sae hand your tongue an' sae nae mair; 

I tell ye, it was a rat ! anon. 

GOOD-NIGHT, PAPA. 

The words of a blue-eyed child, as she kissed her chubby hand 
and looked down the stairs: " Good-night, papa ; Jessie see you in 
the morning." 

It came to be a settled thing; and every evening, as the mother 
slipped the white night-gown over the plump shoulders, the little 
one stopped on the stairs and sang out, " Good-night, papa," and 
as the father heard the silvery accents of the child, he came, and 
taking the cherub in his arms, kissed her tenderly, while the 
mother's eyes filled, and a swift prayer went up; for, strange to 
say, this man, who loved his child with all the warmth of his great 
noble nature, had one fault to mar his manliness. From his youth 
he loved the wine-cup. Genial in spirit, and with a fascination of 
manner that won him friends, he could not resist when surrounded 
by his boon companions. Thus his home was darkened, the heart 
of his wife bruised and bleeding, the future of his child shadowed. 

Three years had the winsome prattle of the baby crept into 
the avenues of the father's heart, keeping him closer to his home; 
but still the fatal cup was in his hand. Alas for frail humanity, 
insensible to the calls of love! 

" Good-night, papa," sounded from the stairs. What was there 
in the voice? A silvery, plaintive sound; a lingering music that 
touched the father's heart, as when a cloud crosses the sun. 
"Good-night, my darling;" but his lips quivered, and his broad 
brow grew pale. "Is Jessie sick, mother? Her cheeks are 
flushed, and her eyes have a strange light." 



140 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

" Not sick," and the mother stooped to kiss the fluslied brow ; 
" she may have played too much. Pet is not sick ? " 

" Jessie tired, mamma ; good-night, papa ; Jessie see you in 
the morning." 

"That is all, she is only tired," said the mother, as she took 
the small hand. 

Another kiss, and the father turned away; but his heart was 
not satisfied. 

Sweet lullabies were sung ; but Jessie was restless, and could 
not sleep. "Tell me a story, mamma;" and the mother told of 
the blessed babe that Mary cradled, following along the story till 
the child had grown to walk and play. The blue, wide-open eyes 
filled with a strange light, as though she saw and comprehended 
more than the mother knew. 

That night the father did not visit the saloon; tossing on his 
bed, starting from a feverish sleep and bending over the crib, the 
long weary hours passed. Morning revealed the truth ; Jessie was 
smitten with the fever. 

" Keep her quiet," the doctor said ; " a few days of good nurs- 
ing, and she will be all right." 

Words easy said ; but the father saw a look on the sweet 
face such as he had never seen before. He knew the message 
was at the door. 

Night came. "Jessie is sick; can't say good-night, papa;" 
and the little clasping fingers clung to the father's hand. 

Days passed; the mother was tireless in her watching. With 
her babe cradled in her arms, her heart was slow to take in the 
truth, doing her best to solace the father's heart. "A light case ! 
The doctor says: 'Pet will soon be well.'" 

Calmly, as one who knows his doom, the father laid his hand 
upon the hot brow, and looked into the eyes even then covered 
with the film of death. 

With a last painful effort the parched lips opened: "Jessie's 
too sick; can't say good-night, papa; in the morning." There 
was a convulsive shudder, and the clasping fingers relaxed their 
hold ; the messenger had taken the child. 

Months have passed. Jessie's crib stands by the side of her 
father's couch ; her blue embroidered dress and white hat hang 
in his closet; her boots, with the print of the feet just as she last 
wore them, as sacred in his eyes as they are in the mother's. 
Not dead, but merely risen to a higher life ; while, sounding 
down from the upper stairs, "Good-night, papa; Jessie see you 



MODULATION. 141 

in the morning," has been the means of winning to a better way 
one who had show^n himself deaf to every former call. 

AMERICAN MESSENGER. 

Id the exercises in this lesson, what lines require the fal- 
setto? In '^ Good-night, Papa," how many characters are 
represented? With what vocal characteristics should each 
be clothed, and why? 



lyKSSON XIX. 

OROTUND. 



The orotund quality is used in the expression of dignity, 
majesty, nobility, sublimity, and grandeur. 

In the following exercises, what parts should be read 
with the fullest orotund ? what with the slightest ? How 
do other parts compare with these two extremes? 

Illusteations. 

1. While the Union lasts, ^ve have high, exciting, gratifying 
prospects spread out before us, for us and our children. Beyond 
that I seek not to penetrate the veil. God grant that, in my 
day at least, that curtain may not rise! God grant that on my 
vision never may be opened what lies behind ! When my eyes 
shall be turned to behold for the last time the sun in heaven, 
may I not see him shining on the broken and dishonored frag- 
ments of a once glorious Union ; on States dissevered, discordant, 
belligerent; on a land rent with civil feuds, or drenched it 
may be, in fraternal blood ! Let their last feeble and lingering 
glance, rather, behold the gorgeous ensign of the Republic, now 
known and honored throughout the earth, still full high ad- 
vanced ; its arms and trophies streaming in their original luster ; 
not a stripe erased or polluted, nor a single star obscured — bear- 
ing for its motto, no such miserable interrogatory as. What is all 
this worth? nor those other words of delusion and folly, Liberty 
first and Union afterwards; but everywhere, spread all over in 
characters of living light, blazing on all its ample folds, as they 
float over the sea and over the land, and in every wind under the 



142 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

whole heavens, that other sentiment dear to every true American 
heart, Liberty and Union, now and forever, one and inseparable! 

WEBSTER. 

2. And after these things I heard a great voice of much peo- 
ple in heaven, saying. Alleluia; salvation, and glory, and honor, 
and power, unto the Lord our God. And again they said, Alle- 
luia. And I heard as it were the voice of a great multitude, and 
as the voice of many waters, and as the voice of mighty thunder- 
ings, saying. Alleluia ; for the Lord God omnipotent reigneth. 

EEV. XIX. 

3. O for a lodge in some vast wilderness, 
Some boundless contiguity of shade, 
Where rumor of oppression and deceit, 
Of unsuccessful or successful war. 
Might never reach me more ! cowper. 

4. Still stands the forest primeval, but far away from its shadow, 
Side by side, in their nameless graves, the lovers are sleeping. 
Under the humble walls of the little Catholic church-yard. 
In the heart of the city, they lie unknown and unnoticed. 
Daily the tides of life go ebbing and flowing beside them ; 
Thousrmds of throbbing hearts, where theirs are at rest and 

forever ; 
Thousands of aching brains, where theirs no longer are busy; 
Thousands of toiling hands, where theirs have ceased from 

their labors ; 
Thousands of weary feet, where theirs have completed their 

journey ! longfellovv. 

5. Let no man dare, when I am dead, to charge me with dis- 
honor. Let no man attaint my memory by believing that I could 
have engaged in any cause but that of my country's liberty and 
independence, or that I could have become the pliant minion 
of power in the oppression and the miseries of my countrymen. 
I would not have submitted to a foreign oppressor, for the same 
reason that I would resist the domestic tyrant. In the dignity of 
freedom I would have fought upon the threshold of my country, 
and its enemy should enter only by passing over my lifeless corpse. 
And am I, who have lived but for my country — who have sub- 
jected myself to the dangers of the jealous and watchful oppressor, 
and now to the bondage of the grave, only to give my country- 



MODULATION. 143 

men their rights, and my country her independence — am I to be 
loaded ^vith calumny, and not suffered to resent it? No; God 
forbid ! emmet. 

BRUTUS ON THE DEATH OF C^SAR. 

Eomans, countrymen, and lovers ! Hear me for my cause ; 
and be silent that you may hear. Believe me for mine honor; 
and have respect to mine honor, that you may believe. Censure 
me in your wisdom ; and awake your senses, that you may the 
better judge. If there be any in this assembly— any dear friend 
of C«3sar's — to him I say, that Brutus's love to Csesar was not 
less than his. If, then, that friend demand why Brutus rose 
against €?esar, this is my answer : not that I loved Caesar less, 
but that I loved Eorae more. Had you rather Csesar were living, 
and die all slaves, than that Csesar were dead, to live all free- 
men ? As Caesar loved me, I weep for him ; as he was fortunate, 
I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I honor him; but as he was 
ambitious, I slew him. There are tears, for his love ; joy, for his 
fortune ; honor, for his valor ; and death for his ambition ! Who 
is here so base that would be a bondman ? If any, speak ; for 
him have I offended. AVho is here so rude that would not be a 
Koman ? If any, speak ; for him have I offended. AVho is here 
so vile that will not love his country ? If any, speak ; for him 
have I offended. I pause for a reply. shakespeare. 

MOUNTAINS. 

Mountains! who was your Builder? AVho laid your awful 
foundations in the central fires, and piled your rocks and snow- 
capped summits among the clouds? AYho placed you in the 
gardens of the world, like noble altars, on which to offer the sac- 
rificial gifts of many nations ? Who reared your rockj^ walls in 
the barren desert, hke towering pyramids, like monumental 
mounds, like giants' graves, like dismantled pile's of royal ruins, 
telling a mournful tale of glory, once bright, but now fied forever, 
as flee the dreams of a midsummer's night? Who gave you a 
home in the islands of the sea— those emeralds that gleam among 
the w-aves— those stars of ocean tliat mock the beauty of the stars 
of night ? 

Mountains! I know who built you. It was God! His 
name is written on your foreheads. He laid your corner-stones 
on that glorious morning when the orchestra of heaven sounded 



144 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

the anthem of creation. He clothed your high, imperial forms 
in royal robes. He gave you a snowy garment, and wove for 
you a cloudy veil of crimson and gold. He crowned you with a 
diadem of icy jev/els ; pearls from the arctic seas ; gems from the 
frosty pole. Mountains ! ye are glorious. Ye stretch your gran- 
ite arms away toward the vales of the undiscovered ; ye have a 
longing for immortality. 

But, mountains! ye long in vain. I called you glorious, and 
truly ye are ; but your glory is like that of the starry heavens ; 
it shall pass away at the trumpet-blast of the angel of the Most 
High. And yet ye are worthy of a high and eloquent eulogium. 
Ye were the lovers of the daughters of the gods ; ye are the 
lovers of the daughters of liberty and religion now ; and in your 
old and feeble age the children of the skies shall honor your 
bald heads. The clouds of heaven — those shadows of Olympian 
power, those spectral phantoms of dead Titans — kiss your sum- 
mits, as guardian angels kiss the brow of infant nobleness. On 
your sacred rocks I see the foot-prints of the Creator ; I see the 
blazing fires of Sinai, and hear its awful voice ; I see the tears of 
Calvary, and listen to its mighty groans. 

Mountains ! ye are proud and haughty things. Ye hurl de- 
fiance at the storm, the lightning, and the wind ; ye look down 
with deep disdain upon the thunder-cloud ; ye scorn the devas- 
tating tempest ; ye despise the works of puny man ; ye shake 
your rock-ribbed sides with giant laughter, when the great earth- 
quake passes by. Ye stand as giant sentinels, and seem to say 
to the boisterous billows: "Thus far shalt thou come, and here 
shall thy proud waves be stayed!" 

Mountains ! ye are growing old. Your ribs of granite are 
getting weak and rotten; your muscles are losing their fatness; 
your hoarse voices are heard only at distant intervals ; your vol- 
canic heart throbs feebly ; and your lava-blood is thickening, as 
the winters of many ages gather their chilling snows around 
your venerable forms. The brazen sunlight laughs in your old 
and wrinkled faces ; the pitying moonlight nestles in your hoary 
locks ; and the silvery starlight rests upon you like the halo of 
inspiration that crowned the heads of dying patriarchs and 
prophets. Mountains! ye must die. Old Father Time, that sex- 
ton of earth, has dug you a deep, dark tomb; and in silence ye 
shall sleep after sea and shore shall have been pressed by the 
feet of the apocalyptic angel, through the long watches of an 
eternal'night. e. m. morse. 



MODULATION. 145 

Lesson XX. 

TIME. 
In Elocution there are three divisions of Time, i quantity, 

CLAUSE. 

Rate is time as applied to a collection of words. 

Quantity is time as applied to a word or part of a word. 

Pause is time as applied to silence. 

The part played by rate in the true expression of thought 
is great. Now it lashes words to their utmost speed; now 
it applies the brakes to them until they scarcely move ; and 
there is no stage between the two extremes that is not at 
some time touched by the real artist. Not to understand 
the art of varying rate in harmony with the ever-changing 
thought, is to pluck from delivery one of its most effective 
factors. 

Deliberate Rate. — Debility, indolence, indifference, 
sluggishness, weigh tiness, deliberation, solemnity, pomposity, 
ponderosity, and their near relations, are noted for their 
slowness of movement. 

Illustrations. 

1. All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow; 
All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing; 
All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of patience! 
And as she pressed once more the lifeless head to her bosom, 
Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured: "Father, I 
thank thee!" longfellow. 

2. My lords, you seem impatient for the sacrifice. The 
blood for which you thirst is not congealed by the artificial terrors 
which surround your victim ; it circulates, warmly and unruffled, 
through the channels which God created for nobler purposes, 
but which you are bent to destroy for purposes so grievous that 
they cry to Heaven. Be yet patient! I have but a few words 
more to, say. I am going to my cold and silent grave. My lamp 
of life is nearly extinguished. My race is run. The grave opens 
to receive me, and I sink into its bosom. I have but one request 

13 



146 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

to make at my departure from this world ; it is the charity of its 
silence. Let no man write my epitaph; for as no man who 
knows my motives dare now vindicate them, let not prejudice nor 
ignorance asperse them. Let them and me repose in obscurity 
and peace, and my tomb remain uninscribed, until other times 
and other men can do justice to my character. When my country 
takes her place among the nations of the earth, then, and not till 
then, let my epitaph be written. I have done. emmet. 

3. " Cain ! Cain ! where is thy brother now ? 
Lives he still — if dead, still where is he? 
Where ? In heaven ? Go read the sacred page : 
* No drunkard ever shall inherit there.' 
Who sent him to the pit? Who dragged him down? 
Who bound him hand and foot? Who smiled and smiled 
While yet the hellish work went on? Who grasped 
His gold, his health, his life, his hope, his all ? 
Who saw his Mary fade and die? Who saw 
His beggared children wandering in the streets? 
Speak, coward, if thou hast a tongue, 
Tell why, with hellish art, you slew a man." 

EDWARDS. 

HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY ON DEATH. 

To be, or not to be, — that is the question : 

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer 

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. 

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, 

And by opposing end them ! To die, — to sleep, — 

No more ; and, by a sleep, to say we end 

The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks 

That flesh is heir to, — 't is a consummation 

Devoutly to be wished. To die, to gleep ; 

To sleep ! perchance to dream ;— ay, there *s the rub ! 

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, 

When we have shufiled off this mortal coil. 

Must give us pause : there 's the respect, 

That makes calamity of so long life ; 

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time. 

The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, 

The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, 

The insolence of office, and the spurns 



MODULATION. 147 

That patient merit of the unworthy takes, 

When he himself might his quietus make 

With a bare bodkin ? Who would fardels bear, 

To grunt and sweat under a weary life, 

But that the dread of something after death, — 

The undiscovered country, from whose bourne 

No traveler returns, — puzzles the will. 

And makes us rather bear those ills we have, 

Than fly to others that we know not of ? 

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all ; 

And thus the native hue of resolution 

Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought ; 

And enterprises of great pith and moment. 

With this regard, their currents turn awry. 

And lose the name of action. shakespeare. 

Analyze and state with what degree of slowness various 
passages in this lesson should be read. 



IvKSSON XXI. 
MODERATE RATE. 



All thought of a temperate nature moves with mod- 
eration. 

Illustrations. 

1. The moon above the eastern wood 
Shone at its full ; the hill-range stood 
Transfigured in the silver flood. 
Its blown snows flashing cold and keen. 
Dead white, save where some sharp ravine 
Took shadow, or the somber green 
Of hemlocks turned to pitchy black 
Against the whiteness at their back. whittier. 

2. The rich man's son inherits lands. 

And piles of brick, and stone, and gold ; 

And he inherits soft, white hands, 

And tender flesh that fears the cold ; 
Nor dares to wear a garment old ; 

A heritage, it seems to me. 

One would not care to hold in fee. lowell. 



148 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

3. And she who strives to take the van, 

In conflict or the common way, 
Does outrage to the heavenly plan, 

And outrage to the finer clay 
That makes her beautiful to man. Holland. 

4. "The kettle began it. Don't tell me what Mrs. Peery- 
bingle said. I know better. Mrs. Peerybingle may leave it on 
record to the end of time that she could n't say which of them 
began it; but I say the kettle did. I ought to know, I hope! 
The kettle began it, full five minutes by the little waxy-faced 
clock in the corner, before the cricket uttered a chirp." 

DICKENS. 

5. We have demonstrations enough, fortunately, to show that 
truth alone is not sufficient; for truth is the arrow, but man is 
the bow that sends it home. There be many men who are the 
light of the pulpit, whose thought is profound, whose learning 
is universal, but whose offices are unspeakably dull. They do 
make known the truth ; but without fervor, without grace, with- 
out beauty, without inspiration; and discourse upon discourse 
would fitly be called the funeral of important subjects! 

BEECHER. 

CIvEON AND I. 

Cleon hath a million acres ; ne'er a one have I ; 
Cleon dwelleth in a palace ; in a cottage, I ; 
Cleon hath a dozen fortunes ; not a penny, I ; 
But the poorer man is Cleon ; not the poorer, I. 

Cleon, true, possesseth acres ; but the landscape, I ; 
Half the charms to me it yieldeth, money can not buy; 
Cleon harbors sloth and dullness ; freshening vigor, I ; 
He in velvet, I in fustian ; richer man am I. 

Cleon is a slave to grandeur ; free as thought am I ; 
Cleon fees a score of doctors; need of none have I; 
Wealth-surrounded, care-environed, Cleon fears to die; 
Death may come, he '11 find me ready ; happier man am I. 

Cleon sees no charm in nature ; in a daisy, I ; 

Cleon hears no anthems ringing in the sea and sky ; 

Nature sings to me forever ; earnest listener, I ; 

State for state, with all attendants, who would change ? Not I. 

CHARLES MACKAY. 



MODULATION. 149 

Lesson XXII. 

RAPID RATE. 
Impetuosity, precipitancy, gleefulness — all the more 
highly wrought passions — require a rate of rapidity propor- 
tionate to the degree of their intensity. 
Illustrations. 

1. Morgan's men are coming, Frau ; they 're galloping on this way. 
I 'm sent to warn the neighbors. He is n't a mile behind ; 
He sweeps up aU the liorses — every horse that he can find ! 
Morgan, Morgan, the raider, and Morgan's terrible men ! 
With bowie-knives and pistols, are galloping up the glen 1 

C. F. WOOLSON. 

2. Hemmed in by many a billow, 

With mad and foaming lip, 
A mile from shore, or hardly more, 

She saw a gallant ship, — 
Aflame from deck to topmast. 

Aflame from stem to stern ; 
For there seemed no speck on all that wreck. 

Where the fierce fire did not burn! 

FARNINGHAM. 

3. For evil news from Mablethorpe, 

Of pyrate galleys warping down ; 
For shippes ashore beyond the scorpe, 

They have not spared to wake the towne; 
But while the west bin red to see, 
And storms be none and pyrates flee, 
Why ring The Brides of Enderby ? ingelow. 

4. By the river's brink that night, 

Foot to foot in strife, 
Fought we in the dubious light 

A fight of death or life. 
Don Camillo slashed my shoulder; 
With the pain I grew the bolder. 

Close and closer still I pressed! 
Fortune favored me at last; 
I broke his guard; my weapon passed 

Through the caballero's breast. waller. 



150 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

6. Back darted Spurius Lartius ; 

Herminiiis darted back; 
And as they passed, beneath their feet 

They felt the timbers crack. 
But when they turned their faces, 

And on the further sliore 
Saw brave Horatius stand alone, 

They would have crossed once more. 

T. B. MACAULAY. 

FLASH— THE FIREMAN'S STORY. 

Flash M'as a white-foot sorrel an' run on No. 3 ; 
Not much stable manners — an average horse to see ; 
Notional in his methods, strong in his loves and hates; 
Not very much respected, or pop'lar 'mongst his mates; 

Dull an' moody an' sleepy on oflf an' quiet days ; 
Full of turb'lent sour looks, an' small sarcastic ways ; 
Scowled an' bit at his partner, and banged the stable floor, 
With other tricks intended to designate life a bore. 

But when, be't day or night time, he heard the alarm-bell ring, 
He 'd rush for his place in the harness with a regular tiger spring ; 
An' watch with nervous shivers the clasp of buckle and band, 
Until it was plainly ev'dent he'd like to lend a hand. 

An' when the word was given, away he would rush an' tear, 
As if a thousan' witches was rumplin' up his hair. 
An' wake his mate up crazy with his magnetic charm ; 
For every hoof-beat sounded a regular fire alarm ! 

Never a horse a jockey would worship an' admire 
Like Flash in front of his engine, a-racin' with a fire ; 
Never a horse so lazy, so dawdlin' an' so slack 
As Flash upon his return trip, a-drawin' the engine back. 

Now when the different horses gets tender-footed an' old, 
They aint no use in our business ; so Flash was finally sold 
To quite a respectable milkman, who found it not so fine 
A-bossin' of God's creatures outside o' their reg'lar line. 

Seems as if I could see Flash a-mopin' along here now, 
A-feelin' that he was simply assistant to a cow ; 



MODULATION. 151 

But sometimes he'd imagine he heard the alarm-bell's din, 
An' jump an' rear for a minute before they could hold him in. 

An' once, in spite o' his master, he strolled in 'raongst us chaps, 
To talk with the other horses, of former fires, perhaps; 
Whereat the milkman kicked him ; wherefore us boys to please, 
He begged that horse's pardon upon his bended knees. 

But one day, for a big fire as we was makin' a dash — 
Both o' the horses we had on somewhat resemblin' Flash, 
Yellin' an' ringin' an' rushin' with excellent voice an' heart — 
We passed the poor old fellow, a-tuggin' away at his cart. 

If ever I see an old horse grow upward into a new; 

If ever I see a driver whose traps behind him flew; 

'T was that old horse, a-rompin' an' rushin' down the track. 

An' that respectable milkman a-tryin' to hold him back. 

Away he dashed like a cyclone for the head of No. 3 ; 
Gained the lead, an' kept it, an' steered his journey free, 
Dodgin' the wheels an' horses, an' still on the keenest silk. 
An' furnishin' all that district with good, respectable milk. 

Crowds a-yellin' an' runnin, and vainly hollerin' " Whoa ! " 
Milkman bracin' an' sawin', with never a bit o' show ; 
Firemen laughin' an' chucklin' an' hollerin', "Good! go in!" 
Hoss a-gettin' down to it, an' a sweepin' along like sin. 

Finally come where the fire was; halted with a thud; 
Sent the respectable milkman heels over head in mud ; 
Watched till he see the engine properly workin' there. 
After which he relinquished all interest in the affair. 

Moped an' wilted an' dawdled, faded away once more ; 
Took up his old occ'pation of votin' life a bore ; 
Laid down in the harness, an' sorry I am to say, 
The milkman he drew there, drew his dead body away. 

That 's the whole o' my story ; I 've seen more 'n once or twice. 
That poor dumb animal's actions are full o' human advice ; 
An' if you ask what Flash taught, I simply answer you then, 
That poor old horse was a symbol of some intelligent men. 

WILL CARLETON. 

Compare passages in this lesson in regard to rate. 



152 ELOCUTION Ai^D ORATORY. 



Lesson XXIII. 

QUANTITY. 

Quantity is one of the subtlest, as it is one of the 
least understood, factors in expressive delivery. How many- 
readers and speakers there are who do not know the meaning 
of the word quantity as applied to ElocutioUj aud who do 
not catch the faintest glimpse of its influence ! 

The word every means all, and it takes the whole word to 
express it. Eternity is beginningless and endless ; but as it 
is often pronounced, one. would think it means a lapse of 
time so brief that it ends almost as soon as it begins. Our 
language is full of words, the full meaning of which can be 
expressed only by the appropriate play of quantity. 

The thinker will observe that the large majority of words 
in the English language contain some sound or sounds that 
will not legitimately admit of long quantity. He Avho has a 
discriminating ear will notice that speakers who make sounds 
carry quantity which by nature are unfitted for it, are inar- 
tistic in their utterance. A short sound is a short sound, 
and an attempt to prolong it must do it injury. Short a 
prolonged, is not short a. The detestable drawl is the off- 
spring of this wrong application of quantity. Prolong the 
first sound in the word and, and note the effect. No well- 
trained ear will willingly tolerate it. 

Name the simple sounds that will admit of prolongation. 
Which of these permit the longest quantity? They may be 
called indefinites. Which permit but a limited prolongation? 
They may be called definvtes. Which permit only the shortest 
quantity ? They may be called immuUibles. Which sounds 
are, as a rule, used as explosives? what as continuants? 
Syllables composed wholly of immutables can not bear long 
quantity, as it, in the word itself. All the vowel sounds, save 
the .six short sounds, admit of more or less prolongation. 

The consonants, when found initial in syllables or words, 



MODULATION. 153 

ordinarily refuse to receive loDg quantity. An attempt to 
force it upon them produces such results as gerrand for grand. 

The sub-vocals, used terminally, will permit various de- 
grees of prolonged quantity. 

The aspirates are fitted, least of all, for bearing quantity. 

Short Quantity. 

There are words, the very nature of which is suggestive 
of brief existence. Examples: Cut, quick, short, snap, 
whip, dash, tap, dip, rap, flip, flap. Kequire the pupil to 
mention other words requiring short quantity. 

Medium Quantity. 

Conjunctions, prepositions, and the articles, as a rule, 
require medium quantity. 

Long Quantity. 

A multitude of words have in them that which is indica- 
ative of long life, and they should not be prematurely ended. 

If you would extract from the word misery slM there is in 
it, you must take time ; it can 't be done in an instant. 

You make a burlesque of the word solemnity, when you 
precipitate the syllables one upon another, at a break-neck 
pace. Melancholy is not the emotion of a moment ; it broods. 

Examples of Long Quantity. 

Dreary, dreadful, boundless, everlasting, immeasurable, 
unbounded. Give additional examples. 



Xksson XXIV. 



PAUSE. 

That silence is golden, is an adage nowhere truer than 
in the Art of Delivery. In his use of pause, more than in any 
other one element of delivery, the artist shows his superiority 



154 ELOCUTIOX AXD OEATORY. 

over the novice. In many situation? silence is more eloquent 
than sound. 

And how ignorant is the world at large as to the right 
employment of pause ! How meaningless the old rule5 were ! 
Many of them, how unreasonable ! One need not be very old 
to remember the time when he read in the school-book: 
**Stop long enough at a comma to count one; at a semi- 
colon, to count two," etc. Now those who give the subject 
thought know that the rhetorical or tongue-pause cares but 
little about the grammatical or printer's pause. The gcxxi 
reader or speaker makes many a halt that grammar does uot 
note, and many a time he goes thundering along over a 
period, regardless of its presence. The Soliloquy of Hamlet 
without the pause is no soliloquy; with misplaced pause, it 
becomes ridiculous. 

THE BRIDGE. 

I stood on the bridge at midnight. 

As the clocks were striking the hour. 

And the moon rose o'er the city. 
Behind the dark chui^ch-tower. 

I saw her bright reflection 

In the waters under me, 
Like a gcdden goblet falling 

And Ftinking into the sea. 

And far in the hazy distance 

Of that lovely night in June, 
The blaze of the flaming frimace 

Gleamed redder than the mooiu 

Among the long, black rafters 

The wavering shadows lay. 
And the current that c^ame from the ocean 

Seemed to lift and bear them away; 

As, sweeping and eddying through them, 

Eose the belated tide, 
And. streaming into the moonlight, 
The sea- weed floated wide. 



MODULATION. 155 

And like those waters rushing 

Among the wooden piers, 
A flood of thoughts came o'er me 

That filled my eyes with tears. 

How often. how often, 

In the days that had gone by, 
I had stood on that bridge at midnight, 

And gazed on that wave and sky ! 

How often, O how often, 

I had wished that the ebbing tide 
Would bear me away on its bosom 

O'er the ocean wild and wide ! 

For my heart was hot and restless, 

And my life was full of care. 
And the burden laid upon me 

Seemed greater than I could beajr. 

But now it has fallen from me, 

It is buried in the sea; 
And only the sorrow of others 

Throws its shadow over me. 

Yet whenever I cross the river 

On its bridge with wooden piers, 
Like the odor of brine from the ocean 

Comes the thought of other years. 

And I think how many thousands 

Of care-incumbered men, 
Each bearing his burden of sorrow. 

Have crossed the bridge since then, 

I see the long procession 

^11 passing to and fro, — 
The young heart hot and restless, 

And the old, subdued and slow ! 

And forever and forever, 

As long as the river flows. 
As long as the heart has passions, 

As long as life has woes ; 



156 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

The moon and its broken reflection 

And its shadows shall appear, 
As the symbol of love in heaven, 

And its wavering image here. 

LONGFELLOW. 

Locate and give the comparative length of all the rhetor- 
ical pauses in The Bridge. 



Lesson XXV. 

INFLECTION. 

As THE artist in oils adds a few final strokes to his work 
that it may wear an air of finish, so the artist in words con- 
cludes his clause, or sentence, or thought, by a slide which, 
small as it seems, gives the last, decisive touch to the char- 
acter of what is delivered. If one would leave about a 
statement an air of weakness, indecision, uncertaiuty, let it 
terminate with an upward inflection. Would one speak with 
the voice of conviction, decision, determination, completion, 
he should turn the inflection downward. The hinge on which 
inflection turns is the character of the thought ; doubt, up- 
ward ; decision, downward ; uncertainty, upward ; certainty, 
downward; weakness, upward; strength, downward ; cow- 
ardice, upward; courage, downward; vacillation, upward; 
determination, downward; incompletion, upward; comple- 
tion, downward. 

Would you give expression to a conflict between these 
two sets of emotions, between doubt and certainty, use the 
circumflex. If certainty terminates the conflict, the last dip 
of the wave is downward. If doubt triumphs, that is an- 
nounced by the rising circunaflex. The circumflex always 
takes its name from its termination. There are many who 
have been made uncomfortable when listening to statements^ 
in their very nature full of emphasis and earnestness and 
truth, but over which a cloud of uncertainty was cast by 
the speaker's upward slides of voice. Such oratory bespeaks 



MODULATION. 157 

a shriDking, timid, undecided nature, or an ignorance of 
this simple law of inflection. The upward slide is good 
enough in the proper place, but an abomination when out 
of place. By its misuse, candor bears the seal of insincerity, 
and statements that should issue from the lips with all the 
assurance of absolute certainty, are emitted with the paraly- 
sis of doubt. There are those who can utter a single simple 
elementary sound with the downward slide, only by the 
greatest exertion, and after many attempts. Many a speech 
has fallen dead, slain by the upward slide, which, driven 
home by the right use of the downward slide, would have 
exerted a powerful influence. 

RISING INFLECTION. 
Exercises. 

1. Can storied urn or animated bust, 

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? 
Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust, 

Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death ? 

GRAY. 

2. Am I, who have lived but for my country, and who have 
subjected myself to the dangers of the zealous and watchful op- 
pressor and the bondage of the grave, only to give my countr}'^- 
men their rights and my country her independence, — am I to be 
loaded with calumny, and not sufi'ered to resent or repel it ? 

EMMET. 

3. Wherefore rejoice that Caesar comes in triumph ? 
What tributaries follow him to Rome, 
To grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels? 
Knew you not Pompey ? 
And when you saw his chariot but appear. 
Have you not made an universal shout, 
That Tiber trembled underneath her banks 
To hear the replication of your sounds 
Made in her concave shores? 
And do you now put on your best attire ? 
And do you now cull out a holiday ? 
And do you now strew flowers in his way, 
That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood ? 

SHAKESPEARE. 



158 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 



THE INQUIRY. 

Tell me, ye winged winds, that round my pathway roar, 
Do ye not know some spot were mortals weep no more ? 
Some lone and pleasant dell, some valley in the west. 
Where, free from toil and pain, the weary soul may rest? 

The loud wind dwindled to a whisper low. 

And sighed for pity as it answered — " No." 

Tell me, thou mighty deep, whose billows round me play, 
Know'st thou some favored spot, some island far away, 
"Where weary man may find the bliss for which he sighs, 
Where sorrow never lives, and friendship never dies ? 
The loud waves, rolling in perpetual flow, 
Stopped for awhile, and sighed to answer — '' No." 

And thou, serenest moon, that, with such lovely face. 
Dost look upon the earth, asleep in night's embrace. 
Tell me, in all thy round hast thou not seen some spot 
Where miserable man might find a happier lot ? 
Behind a cloud the moon withdrew in woe, 
And a voice, sweet but sad, responded — " No." 

Tell me, my secret soul— O, tell me, Hope and Faith — 
Is there no resting-place from sorrow, sin, and death ? 
Is there no happy spot where mortals may be blessed. 
Where grief may find a balm, and weariness a rest? 
Faith, Hope, and Love, best boons to mortals given, 
Waved their bright wings, and whispered — " Yes, in heaven !" 

CHARLES MACK AY. 

Point out all the rising inflections this lesson requires. 



I^ESSON XXVI. 

FALLING INFLECTION. 

Illustrations. 

1. Cain, Cain, thou art thy brother's keeper, and his blood 
cries out to heaven against thee ! Every stone will find a tongue 
to curse thee ! Every sight and sound will mind thee of the lost. 

EDWARDS. 



MODULATION. 159 

2. No bugle-call could rouse us all 

As that brave sight had done ; 
Down all the battered line we felt 

A lightning impulse run ; 
Up, up the hill we followed Bill, 

And captured every gun ! gassaway. 

3. 0, the famine and the fever ! 
O, the wasting of the famine ! 
O, the blasting of the fever! 
O, the wailing of the children ! 
O, the anguish of the women ! 
All the earth was sick and famished ; 
Hungry was the air around them, 
Hungry was the sky above them, 
And the hungry stars in heaven 
Like the eyes of wolves glared at them! 

LONGFELLOW. 

4. The curfew tolls the knell of parting day ; 

The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea ; 
The plowman homeward plods his weary way. 
And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 

GRAY. 

5. Here I stand, ready for impeachment or trial. I dare 
accusation. I defy the honorable gentlemen ; I defy the govern- 
ment ; I defy the whole phalanx ; let them come forth. 

GRATTAN. 

SIvAVBRY. 

O for a lodge in some vast wilderness, 

Some boundless contiguity of shade, 

Where rumor of oppression and deceit, 

Of unsuccessful or successful war. 

Might never reach me more ! 

My ear is pained, my soul is sick, 

With every day's report of wrong and outrage 

With which the earth is filled. 

There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart ; 
It does not feel for man ; the natural bond 



160 • ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

Of brotherhood is severed, as the flax 

That falls asunder at the touch of fire. 

He finds his fellow guilty of a skin 

Not colored like his own ; and having power 

To enforce the wrong, for such a worthy cause 

Dooms and devotes him as his lawful prey. 

Lands intersected by a narrow frith 
Abhor each other. Mountains interposed 
Make enemies of nations, who had else 
Like kindred drops been mingled into one. 
Thus man devotes his brother, and destroys ; 
And, worse than all, and most to be deplored, 
As human nature's broadest, foulest blot, 
Chains him and tasks him and exacts his sweat 
With stripes that mercy, with a bleeding heart, 
Weeps when she sees inflicted on a beast. 

Then what is man ? And what man, seeing this, 

And having human feelings, does not blush 

And hang his head to think himself a man ? 

I would not have a slave to till my ground, 

To carry me, to fan me while I sleep, 

And tremble when I wake, for all the wealth 

That sinews bought and sold have ever earned. 

No ; dear as freedom is, and in my heart's 

Just estimation, prized above all price, 

I had much rather be myself the slave 

And wear the bonds, than fasten them on him. 

We have no slaves at home — then why abroad? 
And they themselves, once ferried o'er the wave 
That parts us, are emancipate and loosed. 
Slaves can not breathe in England ; if their lungs 
Receive our air, that moment they are free; 
They touch our country and their shackles fall. 
That 's noble, and bespeaks a nation proud 
And jealous of the blessing. Spread it, then. 
And let it circulate through every vein 
Of all your empire ; that where Britain's power 
Is felt, mankind may feel her mercy, too. 

COWPEB. 

Where are the falling inflections in this lesson ? 



MODULATION. 161 



Lesson XXVII. 

r Simple ^ Rising. 
CIRCUMFLEX J '"jp^r'''^* 

A COMBINATION of a simple falling with a simple rising 
slide constitutes a simple rising circumflex. This combina- 
tion, repeated once, or oftener, and closing with the upper 
slide, constitutes the compound rising circumflex. 

A combination of a simple rising with a simple falling 
slide constitutes the simple falling circumflex. A repetition 
of the simple falling gives the compound falling circumflex. 

SPEECH OF CASSIUS. 

I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus, 
As well as I do know your outward favor. 
Well, honor is the subject of my story. 
I can not tell what you and other men 
Think of this life ; but, for my single self, 
I had as lief not be, as live to be 
In awe of such a thing as I myself. 
I was born free as Csesar ; so were you. 
We both have fed as well ; and we can both 
Endure the winter's cold as well as he ; 
For once, upon a raw and gusty day, 
The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores, 
Csesar said to me, " Dar'st thou, Cassius, now 
Leap in with me into this angry flood. 
And swim to yonder point?" Upon the word, 
Accoutered as I was, I plunged in, 
And bade him follow: so, indeed, he did. 
The torrent roared ; and we did buffet it 
With lusty sinews, throwing it aside. 
And stemming it with hearts of controversy ; 
But ere we could arrive the point proposed, 
Caesar cried, " Help me, Cassius, or I sink ! " 
I, as ^Eneas, our great ancestor, 
Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder, 
14 



162 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tiber 

Did I the tired Caesar ; and this man 

Is now become a god ; and Cnssius is 

A wretched creature, and must bend his body, 

If Caesar carelessly but nod on him. 

He had a fever when he was in Spain, 

And when the fit was on him, I did mark 

How he did shake; 't is true, tins god did shake: 

His coward lips did from their color fly ; 

And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the world, 

Did lose his luster. I did hear him groan ; 

Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans 

Mark him, and write his speeches in their books, 

Alas ! it cried, " Give me some drink, Titinius," 

As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me 

A man of such a feeble temper should 

So get the start of the majestic world. 

And bear the palm alone. 

"Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world. 

Like a Colossus ; and we petty men 

Walk under his huge legs, and peep about 

To find ourselves dishonorable graves. 

Men at some time are masters of their fates : 

The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, 

But in ourselves, that we are underlings. 

Brutus, and Caesar: what should be in that Caesar? 

Why should that name be sounded more than yours? 

Write them together, yours is as fair a name ; 

Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well ; 

Weigh them, it is as heavy ; conjure with them, 

Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Caesar. 

Now, in the names of all the gods at once, 

Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed. 

That he is grown so great? Age, thou art shamed! 

Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods! 

When went there by an age, since the great flood. 

But it was famed with more than with one man ? 

When could they say, till now, that talked of Rome 

That her wide walls encompassed but one man ? 

Now is it Rome indeed, and room enough, 

When there is in it but one only man. 

O, you and I have heard our fathers say. 



MODVLATION. . 163 

There was a Brutus once, who would have brooked 

Th' eternal devil to keep his state in Eome, 

As easily as a king. shakespeaee. 

Give a comparative analysis of the speech of Cassius 
as regards pitch, force, quality, quantity, volume, rate, pause, 
and inflection. 

Monotone. 

A monotone is a tone without inflection. It is the tra- 
ditional tone of the ghosts. As no one ever heard the voice 
of a ghost, the tradition goes unchallenged. The monotone 
befits the dirge. It is the tone of melancholy and soliloquy. 
It is sometimes used in assumed gravity, and it has been 
heard in an owl-eyed attempt at appearing wise. 

Illustrations. 

Because man goeth to his long home, and the mourners go 
about the streets: or ever the silver cord be loosed, or the 
golden bowl be broken, or the pitcher be broken at the fountain, 
or the wheel broken at the cistern. Then shall the dust return 
to the earth as it was: and the spirit shall return unto God who 

gave it. ECCLESIASTES. 

CATO ON THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 

It must be so : Plato, thou reason'st well ; 

Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire, 

This longing after immortality? 

Or whence this secret dread and inward horror 

Of falling into nought? Why shrinks the soul 

Back on herself, and startles at destruction? 

'Tis the divinity that stirs within us, 

'Tis Heaven itself that points out an hereafter. 

And intimates Eternity to man. 

Eternity! thou pleasing, dreadful thought! 

Through what variety of untried being, 

Through what new scenes and changes must we pass ! 

The wide, th' unbounded prospect lies before me; 

But shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it. 

Here will I hold : — If there 's a Power above us 



164 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

(And that there is all Nature cries aloud 

Through all her works), he must delight in virtue; 

And that which he delights in must be happy : 

But when ? or where ? — this world was made for Caesar. 

I 'm weary of conjectures ; this must end them. 

[Laying his hand upon his sword.] 
Thus I am doubly armed ; my death and life, 
My bane and antidote are both before me. 
This in a moment brings me to an end ; 
But this informs me I shall never die. 
The soul, secured in her existence, smiles 
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point. 
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself 
Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years; 
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth, 
Unhurt amid the war of elements, 
The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds. 

' ADDISON. • 



Part Vlll. 



Diction. 



The importance of the right use of words in any walk of 
life is evident without argument. In the hope of interestiug 
the student in the study of Diction the following exercises 
are offered: 

Capacity is power to contain ; ability is power to perform. 
We may administer affairs of state, but it is not in good taste 

to administer strokes. 
We may aggravate a wound, but one's temper is never ag- 



in such words as agriculturalist, conversationalist, horticul- 

turalist, floriculturalist, the al should be omitted. 
He is alone when there is no one with him; he is the only 

one when there is no one like him. 
A novice knows less than an amateur ; an amateur may know 

more than a professional. 
A reply is broader than an answer. We answer questions ; 

we reply to arguments. 
We apprehend a thing when we catch the slightest glimpse 

of it ; we comprehend a thing when we see it through 

and through. 
A student can not be apt to solve a problem, but he may 

be apt in solving it. 
We say so far as I know, not as far as I know. 
He came at last, not at length. 

165 



166 ELOCUTIOy ASD ORATORY. 

If a woman-author is an aadkorea, a woman-painter is a 
paifdanas; a woman-preacher, a prciukeres; and a woman- 
teacher, a ffaeheresf. 

When you sav you hare a bad cold, you suggest a time when 
jou had a good cold. 

A man may be between two men, but noi . • .-i^ o men. 

If you are bound to accomplish the distanv^c ^ .. > if you? 

One makes his ekaarader; his reputation is made for him. 

Of the two, he is the dder; of the many, he is the otdat- 

His punishment is eondign, and so is his reward, if just. If 
his punishment is greater than he deserves, it is tevere. 

To say that he is a continned invalid, b about as precise as to 
^y he is potcerful iceak. 

Saying it is a question of no eonteqiunee, is equivalent to 
saying it is a question of no that iMic^ foUoicg. 

We do not emgider a man polite; we know, without con- 
sidering. 

Do not say corporeal punishment, if you mean eorporal pun- 
ishment. 

We may say eoufie in speaking of two in union. Two mar- 
bles do not unite, therefore they do not form a emtjpl^. 

The Tiolation of state-law is a crime; the Tioladon of 8^- 
law is a riee; the violation of God-law is a Hn. 

A man is dangeroudy ill when he is prone to do himself or 
others harm. One may be very ill and not be very dan- 
gerous. 

K a man has many dear^, he may speak of his deareA. 

A man dies with sl disease, if the disease dies vcith him; if 
the disease kills him, he dies of it. 

We differ vrith another when we agree with the other; we 
dijBTer from him when we do not hold his view. 

He shouts as others have done, is poor English. 

Martha do n't, does Annie ? is the same as, 3»Iartha do not, 
does Annie? 

They may admire «w^ other, if they are two ; if more than 
two, thev ma V admire one another . 



DICTION. 167 

Tesihmmif that cam not be strengthened into evidenee skould 

not conTkt a man. 
We expeet a gift; we rngped: a tliief. Ej^ped has no back- 
ward lodk. 
To call a w<mian ^female is yeiy imcompliinentarT. Xfertmle 

woman smd a ipicloiff woMan are alike erroneoos. 
He ean as eaal j aaeoid up a hill as leaeh a fanJ e(»np]etion. 
As well say gentle dk^ps as gentle faUs. Sheep is plural; go 

is /oft. 
YoD ^oold no more saj geids far gemttemen^ than ptmU for 

pamkioom, or doe f(»r dodar. 
Treat the word 90* as yon would a hornet ; handle it aright, 

aiHl it win do no harm. 
A student does not graduaie; he w gradualed. 
If yon mean had^ say had ■ if yoa mean hftve, say hmy? : h'lt 

never say ia«f ham. 
WTuiesame :fi)od tends to promote a heaMk^ condition. 
If we hanry much we ^lall not arrire in time for the train ; 

bnt by making ha^ we diaU not be late. 
ledBofer is rarely erer used as a drink, but ieed mater is by 

no means rare. 
Peo^k call §sr iee-eream^ bnt ieed eream is served. 
F<H- Iff, do not say i%. 
To be a ladg m nice; to be a te&man is noble. To say Mr. 

Jimes amd lady is indefinite ; to say Mr. J&mes aand wife 

easts r^Seetimi on neither. 
The word 2^ indicate action ; he, inaction. I may % a 

book upon the table, feeling sore t^t it will Us there 

undisturbed. 
A good way to induce a hen to ^ is to ^ her. 
It may be right to l^xee to^norrow, but it is certainly wrong 

to leagm me have a bite. 
Less refas to amount ; ^^teer, to number. 
If I am in error, I wn^bake; if I am taken for some one else, 

I am midaken. 
If any cme will listen, Jke, not ^ey, will learn. 



168 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

It is better to say a pair of new boots, than to say a new pair 
of boots. 

We should be polite, and we ought to be moral. 

A field may be overflowed by water, while by birds it may 
be overflown. 

A task is partly done when some part of it remains undone; 
it is partially done when in some parts it is done better 
than in other parts. 

No one animal ever ran pell-mell. 

Equals are introduced; we present an inferior to a superior. 

Say preventive, not preventative. 

Our merchandise we store in depot^i ; we wait in railway sta- 
tions for trains. 

Bight here, permit me to say, is no better than Wrong here, 
permit me to say. 

If you live in this section, you live in these six hundred and 
forty acres of land. 

He was such a tall man ; but very few have seen a man 
such tall. 

We teach people ; we learn of people. 

He was that excited he could not stand, is poor diction. 

He has more sense than you think for. For what ? 

Omit the terminal s in such words as upwards, downwards, 
sidewards, forwards, backwards, towards. 

We no more try an experiment than we descend down a stair- 
way. 

All hold him in universal esteem ! 

He is known for his truth and veracity! 

Writing is my avocation; teaching my vocation. 

To say, Shakespeare was the greatest of dramatists, is to imply 
that he has ceased to occupy that rank. 

Without you protect your lungs you will injure them ! 

A painting may be finished long before it is completed. 

You are deceiving me. Perhaps he means, You are trying to 
deceive me. 

Neither of us have been informed ! 



DICTION. 169 

A woman does Dot marry a man, much less does a minister 

marry a man and a woman. A woman is married to a 

man. 
If it is correct to say she looks beautifully, it is also correct 

to say she looks redly. 
If she looks wretchedly, she may also look stoutly, if she 

looks awfully, she may look thinly. 
If a man should catch a car, he might not be able to hold it, 

but if he overtakes it, he may step inside. 
Beside means by ilie side of; besides meaus in addition to. 
What a person is, or seems to be, adjectives indicate; what 

they do, adverbs indicate; hence we can not say she 

looks handsomely, nor splendidly. 
Of all others, his manner is the most cruel! 
Make no more noise that you can help\ 
The contract has been closed up I 
One of the cobs struck a man who was standing by on 

the temple on last Saturday bruising it seriously. Re- 
vise the sentence. 
A newspaper head-line reads: ** Peculiarities of a blind 

mule bit by a grasshopper under both knees." Revise. 
He kept the bandage on, to stop the pain for five minutes 

in his forehead. Write this in good English. 

A semi-humorous criticism by Burdette, on the loose use 
of language, may not be out of place. Here it is : 

"How did you find your patient, doctor?" "By going to 
his home." " I mean how did you find him when you got 
there?" "His wife took me to his room." "But what shape 
did you find him in?" "In the shape of a man lying on his 
back." "Well, hut is he better?" "If he is well,he is better, 
of course." "I mean is he improving?" " Improving what ? " 
" AVhy, his health." "I don't know why he should improve 
his health." " Is he better, then ? " " Better than what? " " 0, 
Doctor, do tell me what there is about him." "A pair of 
blankets." "Pshaw! Is he dangerous?" "No, he is perfectl}' 
peaceable." "Doctor, do you know how to tell what ails your 
patient?" "Yes; but you don't know how to ask." 

15 



Part IX. 



Sacred Oratory. 



Within bounds so limited it will be possible to take but 
a cursory view of this subject. Indeed little more is neces- 
sary, as the course of instruction so far indicated may b'e 
as properly applied to the pulpit as to the stage, the 
forum, the bar, or the lecture-platform. Preachers should 
know that Bible joy, no less than any other joy, finds its 
expression in the upper register of the voice ; that melan- 
choly moves more slowly than cheerfulness, whether sacred 
or profane ; that majesty requires more volume than meek- 
ness, in pulpit as elsewhere ; in brief, that intellectual acumen 
and common sense may righteously enter into sacred oratory. 
It is hard to conceive of an All-wise Creator being pleased 
with blind superstitions and nasal tones. Is it reasonable to 
suppose that a servile, crouching, whining man is held in 
higher esteem by Omniscience than the thinker, the gentle- 
man, and the scholar? Must gladness, because found in the 
Bible, shroud its face in gloom ? Must Bible truth be forever 
clouded by the darkness of doubt? Shall the blessed prom- 
ises of the sweet-voiced Savior take on a dull, desolate, 
repellent tone? Shall heaven, with all its beauty and glory, 
be so beclouded by the ministerial moan and frown, that 
sinners will but quicken their pace toward destruction ? The 
devil would have fewer followers if his devotees should con- 
stantly utter his name with a nasal twang, and his promises 
at a vocal value far below par. There are ministers who 
170 



SACRED ORATORY. 171 

carry intellect into pulpit delivery, and who make righteous 
use of modulation in leading humanity into the paths of 
peace; but every clear-headed observer knows that those so 
skilled in the service of th"e Lord, are lamentably outnum- 
bered by those who are ignorant of the divine requirements 
of oratory, and whose consequent dullness of delivery drives 
beyond their reach multitudes of would-be listeners and 
learners. 

Throw wide open the Bible doors of brightness, and hope- 
fulness, and comfort. The Scriptures contain that which 
demands every tone of voice in the vocal range ; every style 
of delivery ; every method of modulation. Portions of the 
Bible are intensely dramatic, and portions tenderly pathetic. 
There are passages of deepest grief; passages of keenest 
denunciation ; passages of tragic power ; and all of these 
demand fitting vocal and visible expression. If the thought 
is dramatic, deliver it dramatically ; if tragic, tragically ; if 
sorrowful, sorrowfully ; if peaceful, peacefully ; if loving, 
lovingly ; if stern, sternly ; every thing according to its nature. 
Thus you employ Sacred Oratory in its broadest, fullest, 
truest sense. 

DEFECTIVB ARTICULATION AND DEFICIENT PROJEC- 
TILE POWER. 

These are the two great causes of indistinctness of utter- 
ance. Your words do not carry to a large audience because 
you do not propel them with sufficient force; or if they are 
sent forcibly enough, a faulty articulation will render them 
indistinct. Cut out the sounds clearly; give each one time 
that it may not destroy its neighbor; vitalize them fully, 
and your listeners will" not complain of being unable to 
understand you. 

PRECIPITANCY. 

No minister does justice to his work unless he inakes his 
words heard and understood. There are some who will hang 



172 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

upon one word an unreasonably long time, and then utter 
three or four words at such a speed that no listener can get 
them apart. Others will strike a certain syllable with great 
strength, and dash so precipitately over the remaining sylla- 
bles that they are lost to almost every ear. 

DRAWLING. 

The preceding class has its antipode in the drawler. The 
man of one tone, and that a drawling tone, can not quit the 
pulpit too soon for the welfare of mankind. 

IRREGULARITY. 

There are men of wondrous vocal volume who are never 
easily heard. They lavish their voices on certain parts of 
their sentences, and invariably weaken on other parts. Usu- 
ally the weakening occurs toward the close of the clause, or 
sentence; and so regular does he become iu this irregularity 
that he affects a sing-song style, almost as injurious to hia 
cause as is drawling. Sustain the effort. Give each word, 
however small, its due prominence. Take time for the prepo- 
sitions, the conjunctions, the articles. Slight nothing. Then, 
with even moderate volume, the delivery will be distinct. 

HEAD TONES. 

A minister of Cincinnati some months ago said to a brother 
minister : ' ' ] hear that the people are saying they can not 
catch my words; that I am not distinct. I am amazed. 
What can it mean ? I know I have a more powerful voice 
than you, and yet they understand you with ease. Can you 
tell me why ? " The answer is easy : The man with the 
powerful voice directed the burden of the vocal current into 
the top of his head, and there his words were lost. The other, 
who knew how to speak, sent his words direct from his lips, 
and his congregation had no difficulty in understanding him. 



SACRED ORATORY. 173 

NASALITY. 

The word Father is a beautiful word when spoken through 
the mouth ; but it is almost intolerable when spoken through 
the nose. And yet there are those who seem to think that 
the latter is the only pious mode of pronouncing it. 

The scholar, be he sinner or saint, knows that God is 
pronounced Odd. Nevertheless our ears are almost daily 
tortured with Gawd, and that, too, in a three-fourths nasal 
tone. In truth, thousands of preachers are unconsciously 
afflicted with this repulsive quality of voice. 

MOUTHING. 

Turning the voice into the nose and head, is not the only 
means of making your audience miserable. Your lips may 
be dull, heavy, inactive ; your tongue may be thick and 
unwieldy ; your teeth may clinch — any thing to make the 
words mumble, and rumble, and suffocate in the mouth. 

CLERICAL SORB-THROAT. 

There are many words which, if they could speak, would 
exclaim : **I was murdered by the throat!" Of all vocal 
crimes, this is the most wide-spread and pernicious. In the 
city of Chicago, a specialist in the diseases of the throat 
at one time had sixty ministers under his treatment, for 
various throat affections. This seems like a just retribution 
for the manner in which they murdered their words, the 
words in turn finally retaliating by killing the ministers. 
Use the throat according to physiological principles, and 
speaking will never injure it. 

MONDAY MORNING PROSTRATION. 

Next to troubles of the throat, ministers suffer most 
from collapse following on the heels of the Sunday services. 
There is an unavoidable expenditure of nerve-force in the 
earnest ministration of the gospel; but that alone does not 



174 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

account for the husky voice, and the great physical exhaus- 
tion experienced by so many ministers. A most prolific 
cause may be found in the waste of breath. The speaker 
who wastes more breath than he consumes in speech, will 
suffer vastly more from weariness than he who uses only so 
much as vocalization demands. 

Congestion is not the only source of sore throat. In 
speech, the waste of outgoing unvocalized breath is a source 
of constant irritation. Breath put wholly into tone is void 
of shock. You can prove this by putting a slip of tissue 
paper near the lips, uttering with the fullest force any 
vowel sound. You note no movement of the paper. Let 
there be the slightest aspiration and the paper will be put 
in motion. If the wasted breath shocks the paper after it 
leaves the lips, it surely shocks the throat on its way to the 
lips. The more lax the throat the less the shock. 

unnaturalne:ss. 

This is one of the rankest of oratoric ills. A minister 
looks at his friends when he talks to them on the street. 
Why does he not look at them when he preaches ? Why 
does he rivet his eyes above their heads? When he speaks 
on the street, he speaks in a natural tone of voice. Why 
does he use a voice wholly foreign to his nature when before 
his congregation? In his parlor, with a few friends, his 
action has a life-like air. Why is his action stilted, angu- 
lar, and constrained before his audience? To be natural 
in the pulpit is a power. In speaking, the eye should be 
true to the mark, and full of native fire ; the voice should 
be natural, and every movement life-like. 

TOO HIGH A KEY. 

The harm done by the use of a too high key is mani- 
fold. There is no point in the entire compass of the voice 
at which speakers so generally speak with indistinctness. In 



SACEEB OEAIOEY. 175 

a large room, with voice pitched very high, it is almost im- 
possible to make one's speech clear and distinct. It is 
literally true that one may speak so loud that he can not 
be heard. Philosophy, as well as experience, teaches this 
tnuh. Avoid a pitch too high, as you would a pitch too 
low. Again, an excessively high key, long sustained, sub- 
jects the body to an unnecessary and harmful vital strain. 

OBJECTION AELE ECCENTRICITIES. 

Avoid rocking to and fro. Ii is painful monotony to 
your audience. 

Avoid rocking from side to side, if you would have your 
words heard. 

Avoid a mouotODOus elevation, or knitting of the brows, 
or a wrinkling of the forehead. 

Avoid standing with hollow chest, or with one shoulder 
far below the other, or with one knee projecting. 

Avoid revolving from right to left, or from left to right. 
This be<?omes as tii*esome as movements to and fro, or from 
side to side. 

It seems unfortunate that there is so little attention given 
to the Art of Delivery in the preparation for the ministry. 
That defects are so many and so glaring, aud skill in speech 
so seldom seen, is the natural outcome of so much inatten- 
tion to this subject. Learning is of little value to a minister, 
if he can not impart it with force and clearness to his 
hearers. What he may know amounts to but little, if he 
does not know how to tell it to good advantage. In every 
Tlieological Seminary the art of imparting knowledge should 
go hand in hand with the acquisition of the knowledge it- 
self. The preacher whose soul is illumkied by the light of 
law, whose emotions have reason at their helm, whose mind 
is awake to the best interests of his hearers, will make 
the best use of his voice, his eye, his poise, his action, in 
his efforts to enforce the truths of the gospel upon his 
consreiratiou. 



176 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 



BIBLE READINGS. 

PSALM XXIII. 

1. The Lord is my shepherd ; I shall not want. 

2. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures : he leadeth 
me beside the still waters. 

3. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of 
righteousness for his name's sake. 

4. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of 
death, I will fear no evil : for thou art with me ; thy rod and thy 
staff they comfort me. 

5. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine 
enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth 
over. 

6. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days 
of my life : and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. 

First Verse. — ''The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not 
want." 

In the first clause, David makes acknowledgment of his 
leadership. David himself had been a shepherd, and his 
use of that term in speaking of his Protector is most natural. 
In the second clause he speaks in a sense of security — per- 
fect faith in the shepherd. 

Why a sentence filled with the feeling of divine protec- 
tion and human gratitude should be read in a low, sepul- 
chral tone, such as so many use, is difficult to comprehend. 
Gratitude so expressed to a human friend would sound like 
hollow mockery. 

Second Verse. — " He maketh me to lie down in green 
pastures : he leadeth me beside the still waters." 

There is a no more perfect picture of contentment than 
this. David had often seen this picture, and now applies it. 
As David had led his sheep, many times, beside the still 
waters, so he declares himself willing to be led by the Heav- 
enly Shepherd. Surely over such a declaration there hovers 
no feeling of remorse, as some seem to think. Through it 
runs no tinge of grief, as the voice of the pulpit sometimes 



SACRED ORATORY, 177 

suggests. In it should not be seen a sliadow of doubt, 
which so many wrongfully introduce by an upward slide of 
the voice, or a wavering expression. 

Third Verse. — " He restoreth my soul : he leadeth me 
in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake." 

In the opening clause is pictured the joy of the redeemed ; 
in the second clause, the result of restoration, and a modest 
attribution of glory to Christ. This should be read in per- 
fect keeping with the sentiments expressed in this beautiful 
sentence. 

Fourth Verse. — **Yea, though I walk through the 
valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou 
art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me." 

In these verses may be seen the outcropping of David's 
pastoral life. In the first words of this verse are seen the 
first and only shade of sadness this psalm presents ; and it 
endures but a moment, when it bursts into fullest trust in 
the words : *' I will fear no evil." The psalmist manifests the 
completest confidence in Christ by saying: '' For thou art 
with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me." With 
the voice and manner reflect these feelings, and the verse is 
well read. Do not exaggerate the touch of sadness into the 
depths of gloom. 

In the contemplation of the crossing of the cold river of 
death, the Christian himself may feel a momentary chill ; 
but, like David, it is instantly replaced by faith that rises 
triumphant over every fear. In reading the opening words 
of this verse, the voice should be slightly subdued and soft- 
ened, rising into a higher key and more cheerful tone in the 
words, " I will fear no evil," and steadily brightening to 
the close of the verse. 

Fifth and Sixth Verses. — "Thou preparest a table 
before me in the presence of mine enemies : thou anointest 
my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely good- 
ness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life : and 
I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever." 



178 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

In these verses there is an ascendiDg flight by way of 
increase in animation, in thanksgiving, in praise, until the 
culmination on the word life in the sixth verse, when fol- 
lows a subsidence into a quiet trust that foresees the ever- 
lasting dwelling of the soul " in the house of the Lord." 

Now, he who reads these two verses with drooping lids, 
and heavy eyes, and solemn face, and passive form, and a 
dolorous monotone, should be told of his error. 

When Sacred Oratory is seen in its true light, all super- 
stitions concerning it, all prejudices against it, all narrow 
egotistical undervaluations of it, will be swept away. Hon- 
esty, earnestness, fervor, intellectuality, refinement, knowl- 
edge, can not be put to better use than to the furtherance 
of man's well-being here and hereafter. 

Following the plan here suggested, any Scriptural reading 
may be analyzed, and the voice and gesture suited to the 
thought. 



HYMNAL READINGS. 

The wrongs constantly being perpetrated upon the Bible 
are duplicated — augmented, if possible — -in the treatment of 
hymns. Every one knows that the majority of ministers 
read hymns wretchedly. They whine them, drawl them, 
render them in a sing-song style, and impose upon them every 
conceivable indignity. The poor, helpless hymns deserve 
unbounded sympathy in their sufferings. Here is a recipe 
for emptying churches : Read the hymns without a shade 
of modulation, or a spark of animation ; have them sung 
by a choir in such a way that listeners can not understand 
a single word ; utter a stereotyped, labored, melancholy 
prayer; then read a long, dry, large-worded manuscript- 
sermon in the same style, and the probabilities are that you 
will be preaching to empty benches, before your first year 
has half ended. 



SACREI) ORATORY. 179 



COROXATIOX. 

All hail the pov»-er of Jesus" name! 

Let angels prostrate tall; 
Bring forth the royal diadem, 

And crown him Lord of all. 

Let every kindred, every tribe, 

On this terrestrial ball, 
To him all majesty ascribe, 

And crown him Lord of all. 

O that with yonder sacred throng 

We at his feet may fall I 
AVe '11 join the everlasting song, 

And crown him Lord of all. 

There is not a -word in this entire hymn that should be 
spoken in a nasal tone. There is not a semblance of mo- 
notony in it. There is no place in it for a sing-song style. 
There is not a thought in it to cloud the face, or hang the 
head, or droop the body, or cast a gloom upon the voice. 
The hymn throughout carries a tone of triumph. Triumph, 
in Bible, hymn, or elsewhere, demands a key above the me- 
dium ; a rate more than moderately rapid ; and a force above 
the average. Triumph requires clear, ringing tones. It 
brightens the eye, illumines the face, and gives tension 
to the Tvhole muscular and emotional man. In hymnal or 
Bible reading, as in the reading of any thing else, the first 
essential is a correct conception of the thought to be ex- 
pressed. This is an intellectual act. The second essential is 
a knowledge of the expression the thought demands. This, 
too, is a question which an educated mind must decide. 
The third essential is the ability to adapt the voice and 
gestu^-e to the nature of the thought. The fourth essential 
is a soul which shall vitalize the thiiiiglit and give it per- 
suading and convincing power. 

The minister who reads or speaks most efiectively, is he 



180 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY, 

who analyzes justly ; who modulates his voice in accordance 
with the thought; who makes of his face a truthful mirror 
of the soul ; whose every position or action tends to the 
portrayal of things as they are. All that Elocution has to 
do with Sacred Oratory may be summed up in these words : 
It helps to conform the mind, the spirit, the face, the form, 
the action, to the requirements of the thought. When all 
these powers work in harmony, the pulpit is a power for good. 



Part X. 



Thought Analysis. 



Concerning the analysis of thought something has been 
said in the pages on Modulation and Sacred Oratory; but the 
following selections are here added in order that this subject 
may receive more specific treatment : 



THE BATTlvE OF IVRY. 



NoM' glory to the Lord of hosts, from whom all glories are! 
And glory to our sovereign liege, King Henry of Navarre ! 
Now let there be the merry sound of music and the dance, 
Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny vales, pleasant land 

of France! 
And thou, Eochelle, our own Eochelle, proud city of the waters, 
Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters! 
As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy; 
For cold and stifi" and still are they who wrought thy walls annoy. 
Hurrah! hurrah! a single field hath turned the chance of war. 
Hurrah ! hurrah ! for Ivry and King Henry of Navarre ! 

II. 

O, how our hearts were beating, when at the dawn of day. 
We saw the army of the League drawn out in long array. 
With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel peers. 
And Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish spears! 
There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our land; 
And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand ; 

181 



182 ELOCUTION AND OR A TORY. 

And as we looked on them, we thought of Seine's empurpled flood, 
And good Coligny's hoary hair, all dabbled with his blood; 
And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate of war, 
To fight for his own holy name, and Henry of Navarre. 

III. 
The king is come to marshal us, in all his armor drest ; 
And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest. 
He looked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye ; 
He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high. 
Eight graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing to wing, 
Down all our line, a deafening shout: "God save our lord the 

king!" 
"And if my standard-bearer fall — as fall full well he may. 
For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray — 
Press where ye see my white plume shine amidst the ranks of war, 
And be your oriflamme to-day the helmet of Navarre." 

IV. 

Hurrah ! the foes are moving. Hark to the mingled din 

Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin! 

The fiery duke is pricking fast across St. Andre's plain. 

With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne. 

" Now by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France, 

Charge for the Golden Lilies now — upon them with the lance ! " 

A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest; 

A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white crest; 

And in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a guiding star, 

Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre. 



Now, God be praised, the day is ours ! Mayenne hath turned 

his rein. 
D'Aumale hath cried for quarter. The Flemish Count is slain. 
Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale ; 
The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven 

mail; 
And then, we thought on vengeance, and, all along our van, 
"Remember St. Bartholomew! " was passed from man to man. 
But out spake gentle Henry: "No Frenchman is my foe; 
Down, down with every foreigner, but let your brethren go!" 
O, was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war. 
As our sovereign lord King Henry, the soldier of Navarre ! 



THO UGHT ANAL YSIS. 183 

VI. 

Ho ! maidens of Vienna ! Ho ! matrons of Lucerne ! 

Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never shall return. 

Ho ! Philip, send, for charity, thy Mexicans pistoles, 

That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearsmen's 

souls ! 
Ho ! gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms be bright ! 
Ho ! berghers of Saint Genevieve, keep watch and ward to-night ! 
For our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God hath raised the slave, 
And mocked the counsel of the wise, and the valor of the brave. 
Then glory to His holy name, from whom all glories are ; 
And glory to our sovereign lord, King Henry of Navarre ! 

T. B. MACAULAY. 

General Topics. — Give a sketch of the life of T. B. 
Macaulay. What degree of force in the main characterizes 
this selection ? What pitch, what rate, what volume, what 
emotions, are put most prominently forward? 

First Stanza. — Give the etymology of the word sover- 
eign. What King Henry is referred to here ? Give a brief 
sketch of him. In visibly expressing corn-fields, vines, and 
landj which requires the least extended gesture? which the 
most? Where is Bochellef Why prondf Why have her 
daughters mourned? What is the meaning of our illsf 
Why had her walls been annoyed ? What was the single 
field f Where is Ivryf When was this battle fought? 

Second Stanza. — Who composed the Army of the 
League f Why had it been organized? Who was its leader? 
What is the meaning of priest-led citizens f of rebel peers f 
Pronounce Appenzel. Whence came he? What is the 
meaning of stout? and why used here? What is meant by 
infantry f Give something about Egmont. What are Flem- 
ish spears? Why say ^^ brood of false Lorraine?" Who was 
Lorraine? Why were they the eiirses of France? Why say 
darh Mayenne? Give something of Mayenne. What is a 
truncheon ? Why does looking on them bring up thoughts 
of Seines empurpled flood? To what does Seine's empurpled 
flood refer? What was Coligny's standing in this religious 



184 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

war? What was the body of people called of whom he was 
so long the animating spirit? In what year did Coligny 
die? On what occasion? under what circumstances? In 
what key of voice should this stanza open, as compared with 
the closing of the first stanza? with what force? and volume? 
What gesture is suited to the location of the League ? priest- 
led citizens? rebel peers? Appenzel's stout infantry? Eg- 
mont's Flemish spears? brood of false Lorraine? Mayenne? 
dabbled with his blood? living God? and Henry of Na- 
varre? Into what plane would curses logically carry the 
gesture ? 

Third Stanza. — Pronounce deafening. Define oriflamme; 
give its etymology. To deliver *'God save our lord the King" 
in a feeble voice would not be very deafening. This shout re- 
quires sustaining power, roundness, fullness, and smoothness 
of voice, and great projectile power. In what particulars 
would the delivery of, "^e looked upon his people" differ from 
that of, '^He looked upmi tlie traitors f" To whom does the king 
speak the closing four lines of this stanza? Tell how you 
think they should be spoken, vocally and visibly. 

Fourth Stanza. — Explain the variations of rate this 
stanza requires ; of force ; of pitch. What slide predomi- 
nates? What is the meaning of culverinf Who was the 
fiery dukef Where is St. Andre's plain? What is the 
meaning of hireling chivalry f Give something of Guelder ; 
of Almayne. Give the meaning of fair; of golden lilies. 
What is meant by a flight of the voice ? What flights are 
found in this stanza? Are they ascending or descending? 
What vocal variations do they require? What is the 
meaning of knight f Why was Navarre applied to King 
Henry IV? 

Fifth Stanza. — Give something of jyAumale. Who 
was the Flemish Count f Explain the meaning of the third 
line. Where is the Bay of Biscay f What is the meaning 
of vanf Why say. Remember St. Barfhohmewf Who says 
gentle Henri/ f Was he really gentle ? Spell the word for- 



THOUGHT ANALYSIS. 185 

eigner, phonetically. What flight in the opening lines? 
Where does it begin ? where close ? What changes in rate, 
volume, force, pitch, and quality of voice occur in this 
stanza ? 

Sixth Stanza. — Where is Vienna? where Lucerne? 
Were these maids and matrons friends or foes of the Hugue- 
nots? What Philip is referred to? What is a pistole? 
Why speak of Mexican ? Why use the word charity ? Where 
is Antwerp ? Why should it be spoken of in this connec- 
tion? Who says gallant nobles f In what sense is the word 
gallant used ? What is meant by look that your arms he bright ? 
and in what spirit should these words be uttered ? What is 
a burgher? Where is St. Genevieve? Did these burghers 
ikvor or oppose the Protestant party ? Who were tyrants, 
and why? who slaves, and why? In what particulars must 
the reading of lines five and six differ, the one from the 
other ? In what pitch should the last two lines be read as 
compared with the lines preceding ? 



ANAI^YSIS OF GRAY'S EI.KGY. 



The curfew tolls the knell of parting day ; 

The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea; 
The plowman homeward plods his weary way, 

And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 



Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, 
And all the air a solemn stillness holds, 

Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, 
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds. 

III. 
Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tower, 

The moping owd does to the moon complain 
Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, 
Molest her ancient, solitary reign. 
16 



186 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 



IV. 



Beneath those rugged elms, that yew tree's shade, 

Where heaves the turf in many a moldering heap, 

Each in his narrow cell forever laid, 

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 



The breezy call of incense-breathing morn. 

The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, 

The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, 

No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 

VI. 

For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, 
Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; 

No children run to lisp their sire's return, 

Or climb his knees, the envied kiss to share. 



Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, 

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; 

How jocund did they drive their team afield ! 

How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke ! 



Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, 
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; 

Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, 
The short and simple annals of the poor. 

IX. 

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, 

And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, 

Await alike th' incAdtable hour, — 

The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 



Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, 
If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, 

Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault 
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 



THOUGHT ANALYSIS. \ 187 



Can storied urn, or animated bust, 

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? 
Can Honor's voice provoke the silent dust, 

Or Flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death ? 



Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; 

Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed, 
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre. 

XIII, 

But knowledge to their eyes her ample page, 

Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll; 

Chill penury repressed their noble rage. 

And froze the genial current of the soul. 



Full many a gem of purest ray serene 

The dark, uiifathomed caves of ocean bear; 

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen. 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 



Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless breast, 
The little tyrant of his fields Avith stood ; 

Some mute inglorious Milton, here may rest ; 

Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. 



Th' applause of listening senates to command; 

The threats of pain and ruin to despise ; 
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 

And read their history in a nation's eyes, — 

XVII. 

Their lot forbade ; nor circumscribed alone 

Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined ; 

Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, 
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind; 



188 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 



XVIII. 



The struggling pangs of conscious Truth to hide, 
To quench the blushes of ingenuous Shame, 

Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride 

With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. 



XIX. 



Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, 
Their sober wishes never learned to stray ; 

Along the cool, sequestered vale of life. 

They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. 



XX. 



Yet e'en these bones from insult to protect, 
Some frail memorial still erected nigh, 

With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked, 
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 



XXI. 



Their names, their years, spelt by th' unlettered Muse, 

The place of fame and elegy supply ; 
And many a holy text around she strews, 

That teach the rustic moralist to die. 



XXII. 



For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, 

This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned, 

Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, 

Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind ? 



XXIII. 



On some fond breast the parting soul relies. 
Some pious drops the closing eye requires; 

E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries. 
E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. 



XXIV. 



For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonored dead. 
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate, 

If chance, by lonely contemplation led, 

Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, — 



THOUGHT ANALYSIS. 189 

XXV. ^ 

Haply some hoary-headed swain may say : 

" Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn, 

Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, 
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn, 

XXVI. 

There at the foot of yonder nodding beech, 

That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, 

His listless length at noontide would he stretch, 
And pore upon the brook that babbles by. 

XXVII. 

Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn. 

Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove ; 

Now drooping, woeful, wan, like one forlorn. 

Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love. 

XXVIII. 

One morn I missed him on th' accustomed hill. 
Along the heath, and near his favorite tree ; 

Another came — nor yet beside the rill, 

Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he ; 

XXIX. 

The next, with dirges due, in sad array, 

Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne :— 
Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay 

Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn." 

XXX. 

Here rests his head upon the lap of earth, 

A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown ; 

Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth, 
And Melancholy marked him for her own. 

XXXI. 

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere ; 

Heaven did a recompense as largely send; 
He gave to misery (all he had) a tear ; 

He gained from heaven ('t was all he wished) a friend. 



190 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY, 



No farther seek his merits to disclose, 

Or draw his fraiUies from their dread abode 

(There they ahke in trembhug hope repose), 
The bosom of his Father and his God. 

THOMAS GRAY. 

First Stanza. — Give a sketch of Thomas Gray, Wliat 
is a curfew? What is it to toll the Jcnell of parting day? 
What word in this line should be read in the lowest key ? 
Pronounce loiving. What is the leaf In what key should 
this verse be read ; and with what rate, volume, quality, and 
force ? Name the words that require the longest quantity. 

Second Stanza. — Give the meaning of glimmering, and 
the etymology of landscape. How does the air hold a solemn 
stillness f Why say drowsy tinklings f 

Third Stanza. — What is the meaning of ivy-mantled f 
How does the owl complain to the moon ? Why say ancient, 
solitary reign f Locate the rhetorical pauses found in this 
stanza. 

Fourth Stanza. — The expression yew-tree's shade modi- 
fies what? Shade is the subsequent of what word as leader? 
AVhat is the meaning of the second line? what of rudef 
Where are the rhetorical pauses found? What word in the 
stanza requires the longest quantity ? 

Fifth Stanza. — Explain the term incense-breathing. 
What is the meaning of clarion f What line should be read 
with the slowest rate? what with the lowest key? what with 
the gravest quality? What word in this stanza requires the 
quickest syllabic utterance? 

Sixth Stanza. — Pronounce heaHh. W^hat is it to ply 
evening care f Give the etymology of sire. How does this 
stanza compare with the first three lines of the preceding, in 
pitch, rate, and gravity of tone? 

Seventh Stanza. — Explain the term, stubborn glebe. 
Give the meaning of jocund, and afield. In what sense did 



THOUGHT ANALYSIS. 191 

the ivoods boivf How does this stanza differ from the pre- 
ceding in pitch, force, rate, quality, and style of delivery ? 

Eighth Stanza. — What is the grammatical object of 
moch f Give the meaning of homely, and the etymology of 
obscure. Wh^t is an obscure destiny f Give the meaning of 
annakf For whom does the poet show sympathy here? 
What has occasioned it ? In w^hat sense is the word grandeur 
used ? What is Gray's estimate of grandeur and ambition ? 

Ninth Stanza. — What is hei^aldry and pomp of power f 
Compare the opening two lines, in pitch, force, rate, quan- 
tity, and style, with the closing two lines. 

Tenth Stanza. — These refers to whom, in particular ? 
in general ? What is the meaning of trophies f What long- 
draivn aisle is meant? What is meant by fretted vaidtf by 
note of praise f For whom are trophies reared, and such a 
burial prepared as is described in the last two lines ? 

Eleventh Stanza. — What is meant hy storied urn f ani- 
mmted bustf its mansion f Give the meaning oi provoke as here 
used ? What dull ear of death is meant ? In what way do the 
inflections in this stanza differ from those which precede? 
Has it fewer or more rhetorical pauses than are found in the 
ninth or tenth stanza ? 

Twelfth Stanza. — What neglected spot is meant? Ex- 
plain the second, third, and fourth lines. Where should 
pauses be made in reading this stanza? Should this stanza 
be read more slowly or more rapidly than the eleventh ? 

Thirteenth Stanza. — Tell, in three words, the mean- 
ing of the first and second lines. What is chill penury, noble 
rage, genial current f Give the etymology of the word penury. 
In five words state the substance of this stanza. 

Fourteenth Stanza. — Put this stanza into prose, Avith- 
out omitting a thought. What is the grammatical construc- 
tion of full many a gem'? 

Fifteenth Stanza. — What is meant by some village 
Hampden f AVhat is the meaning of the second line ? He- 
fine mute inglorious 3filton. What Cromwell was guilty of 



192 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

his country's blood? Was a Cromwell lying in this country 
church-yard? How was he guiltless of his country's blood f 

Sixteenth Stanza. — What sHdes close the clauses in 
this stanza ? Are the same slides used in the fifteenth ? 
What rate should be used in reading this stanza, as com- 
pared with the thirteenth? 

Seventeenth Stanza. — Explain the expression, their 
lot forbade. Give the etymology of circumscribed. Name 
some of their growing virtues. Give the meaning of crimes 
confined. How were they confined? Explain the term, for- 
bade to wide. Parse this stanza. What does the last line 
modify, and what does it mean ? What words of this stanza 
requires special emphasis ? 

Eighteenth Stanza. — Whose conscious truth is meant? 
Why pangs and struggling f Define ingenuous. What word 
does this stanza modify ? Put the sixteenth, seventeenth, and 
eighteenth stanzas into diagram. Should the same inflec- 
tions be used in this stanza as in the sixteenth ? 

Nineteenth Stanza. — Define madding and ignoble. In- 
troduce some word before far in the first line to make its 
meaning plainer. Explain the second line. Explain the 
use of cool, sequestered, noiseless tenor. 

Tw^entieth Stanza. — Name the emphatic words in the 
first line. What frail memorial is meant? Why uncouth, 
shapeless sculpture f Define decked, implores, and give the 
meaning of pacing tribute. Why use sigh f What inflections 
should be used in this stanza? 

T"wenty-first Stanza. — Define elegy, and give its 
etymology. What has elegy to do Ayith fame? What is 
fame ? Give the meaning of holy text as here used, and also 
of rustic moralist. How could these holy texts teach these 
moralists how to die? Define the unlettered muse. What 
muse is here meant? How was it known that this one was 
unlettered ? 

Twenty-second Stanza. — Transpose the words of 
this stanza to make it read more like prose, and to make its 



THO UGHT ANAL YSIS. 193 

meaning clearer. What is your answer to the question 
asked in this stanza? Seeing the interrogation-mark at 
its close, one would suppose what inflection should be 
used? In fact, what inflections are the proper ones in this 
stanza ? Why ? Put this stanza in the form of a direct 
affirmation. 

Twenty-third Stanza. — Does this stanza bear any 
relation to the twenty-second? Give the meaning of pious 
drops. What is the significance of closing eyef How does 
the voice of nature cry from the tomb? Explain the last 
line. Pronounce and define wonted. Define fires. How do 
stanzas twenty-one, twenty-two, and twenty-three diflfer from 
sixteen, seventeen, and eighteen, in pitch, force, rate, quality, 
and manner? 

T"wenty- fourth Stanza. — To whom does thee refer? 
Who are the unhonored deadf How does he show his mind- 
fulness ? What does aiiless mean here ? Who had been led by 
lonely contemplation f Who may be later likewise led ? If so 
led, what may be seen, and what inquiry made? What inflec- 
tion on fate, and why ? Why is the term kindred used here ? 

Twenty-fifth Stanza. — Define haply and hoary-headed 
swain. Who was seen at the peep of daiunf Give the mean- 
ing of upland lawn. What do we learn of Gray's habits in 
this stanza? Compare this stanza with the twenty- third, in 
key, rate, force, and quality, of voice. 

Twenty-sixth Stanza. — What is the significance of 
the word nodding as here used? and oi fantastic'^ Explain 
this line. Give the meaning of listless length. Point out the 
instances of alliteration in this stanza. What of the poet's 
habits, as reflected in the last two lines? 

Twenty-seventh Stanza. — Give the meaning of hard. 
What does smiling as in scorn modify? Explain the term 
ivayivard fancies. What is taught of the poet's character 
in this stanza ? 

Twenty-eighth Stanza. — Who is here missed f Why? 
Define heath. What does the poet mean by another camef 

17 



194 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

How should this stauza differ in delivery from the three 
immediately preceding ? 

Twenty-ninth Stanza. — What is meant by duef 
Who is asked to approach and read? What is the most em- 
phatic word in the parenthetical clause, for thou canst read? 
Give the meaning of lay. What is its peculiar fitness in 
this connection? Of all the lines within quotation marks, 
which should be read with lowest key, slowest rate, most 
subdued force, and saddest quality? 

Thirtieth Stanza. — What is meant here by the term 
lap? Define meaning o^ fair science. Is it literally true that 
the subject here referred to was marked by melancholy? 
Are epitaphs, as a rule, reliable? How should the reading 
of this stanza differ from the twenty-ninth ? 

Thirty-first Stanza. — If he was a youth to whom for- 
tune was unknown, how could he be large in bounty? Who 
says his soid was sincere ? What recompense did Heaven send ? 

Thirty -second Stanza. — Wiio has disclosed his merits? 
What frailties have been mentioned ? What is the dread 
abode? What does tlwy refer to? Explain the third line. 
What does the last Hue modify? AVhat style of delivery 
should characterize the reading of the epitaph ? 



ANALYSIS OF HORATIUS AT THE BRIDGK. 

I. 

The Consul's brow was sad, 

And the Consul's speech was low, 
And darkly looked he at the wall, 

And darkly at the foe. 
** Their van will be upon us 

Before the bridge goes down; 
And if they once may win the bridge. 

What hope to save the town?" 



Then out spake brave Horatius, 
The Captain of the Gate : 



THO UGHT ANAL YSIS. 195 

" To every man upon this earth 

Death cometh soon or late ; 
And how can man die better 

Than facing fearful odds, 
For the ashes of his fathers, 

And the temples of his gods? 

III. 

Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, 

With all the speed ye may ; 
I, with two more to help me. 

Will hold the foe in play. 
In yon straight path a thousand 

May well be stopped by three. 
Now who will stand on either hand, 

And keep the bridge with me ? " 

IV. 

Then out spake Spurius Lartius, 

A Eamnian proud was he : 
" Lo, I wall stand at thy right hand, 

And keep the bridge with thee." 
And out spake strong Herminius ; 

Of Titian blood was he : 
" I will abide on thy left side. 

And keep the bridge with thee." 

V. 

" Horatius," quoth the Consul, 

"As thou say'st, so let it be." 
And straight against that great array 

Forth went the dauntless Three. 
For Eomans in Home's quarrel 

Spared neither land nor gold, 
Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life, 

In the brave days of old. 

VI. 

Then none was for a party ; 

Then all w^ere for the State ; 
Then the great man helped the poor, 

And the poor man loved the great ; 



196 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

Then lands were fairly portioned ; 

Then spoils were fairly sold ; 
The Romans were like brothers, 

In the brave days of old. 

VII. 

Now while the Three were tightening 

The harness on their backs, 
The Consul was the foremost man 

To take in hand an ax ; 
And fathers mixed with commons, 

Seized hatchet, bar, and crow, 
And smote upon the planks above, 

And loosed the props below. 

VIII. 

Meanwhile the Tuscan army, 

Right glorious to behold, 
Came flashing back the noonday light. 
Rank behind rank, like surges bright 

Of a broad sea of gold. 
Four hundred trumpets sounded 

A peal of warlike glee. 
As that great host, with measured tread. 
And spears advanced, and ensigns spread, 
Rolled slowly toward the bridge's head. 

Where stood the dauntless Three. 

IX. 

The Three stood calm and silent, 

And looked upon the foes, 
And a great shout of laughter 

From all the vanguard rose ; 
And forth the Three came spurring 

Before that deep array ; 
To earth they sprang, their swords they drew, 
And lifted high their shields, and flew 

To win the narrow way. 

X. 

Stout Lartius hurled down Aunus 

Into the stream beneath ; 
Herminius struck at Seius, 

And clove him to the teeth ; 



THOUGHT ANALYSIS. 197 

At Picus brave Horatius 

Darted one fiery thrust ; 
And the proud Umbrian's gilded arms 

Clashed in the bloody dust. 



But now no sound of laughter 

Was heard among the foes! 
A wild and wrathful clamor 

From all the vanguard rose. 
Six spears'-lengths from the entrance 

Halted that deep array, 
And for a space no man came forth 

To win the narrow way. 



But hark ! the cry is, Astur : 

And lo ! the ranks divide ; 
And the great Lord of Luna 

Comes with his stately stride ; 
Upon his ample shoulders 

Clangs loud the fourfold shield, 
And in his. hand he shakes the brand 

AVhich none but he can wield. 



He smiled on those bold Romans 

A smile serene and high ; 
He eyed the flinching Tuscans, 

And scorn was in his eye. 
Quoth he: "The she-wolf's litter 

Stands savagely at bay ; 
But will ye dare to follow 

If Astur clears the way ? " 

XIV. 

Then, whirling up his broadsword, 
With both hands to the height, 

He rushed against Horatius, 

And smote with all his might. 

With shield and blade Horatius, 
Right deftly turned the blow. 



198 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

The blow, though turned, came yet too nigh 
It missed his helm, but gashed his thigh: 
The Tuscans raised a joyful cry 
To see the red blood flow. 



He reeled, and on Herminius 

He leaned one breathing-space; 
Then, like a wildcat mad with wounds, 

Sprang right at Astur's face. 
Tlirough teeth, and skull, and hohnet, 

80 fierce a thrust he sped, 
The good sword stood a hand-breadth out 

Behind the Tuscan's head. 



On Astur's throat Horatius 

Right firmly pressed his heel, 
And thrice and four times tugged amain, 

Ere he wrenched out the steel. 
*'And see," he cried, ''the welcome, 

Fair guests, that waits you here ! 
What noble Lucomo comes next 

To taste our Roman cheer?" 

XVII. 

But at his haughty challenge 

A sullen murmur ran, 
Mingled of wrath and shame and dread, 

Along the glittering van. 
They lacked not men of prowess, 

Nor men of lordly race ; 
For all Etruria's noblest 

Were round the fatal place. 

XVIII. 

Then all Etruria's noblest 

Felt their hearts sick to see 

On the earth the bloody corpses. 
In the path the dauntless Three. 

Was none who would be foremost 
To lead such dire attack ; 



THO UGHT ANAL YSIS. 199 

But those behind eried "Forward! " 
And those before cried " Back! " 

XIX. 

Yet one man for one moment 

Strode out before the crowd ; 
Well known was he to all the Three, 

And they gave him greeting loud. 
" Now, welcome, welcome, Sextus ! 

Now, welcome to thy home ! 
Why dost thou stay, and turn away ? 

Here lies the road to Rome I " 



Thrice looked he at the city ; 

Thrice looked he at the dead ; 
And thrice came on in fury, 

And thrice turned back in dread; 
And, white with fear and hatred, 

Scowled at the narrow way. 
Where, wallowing in a pool of blood, 

The bravest Tuscans lay. 

XXI. 

But meanwhile ax and lever 

Have manfully been plied ; 
And now the bridge hangs tottering 

Above the boiling tide. 
" Come back, come back, Horatius ! " 

Loud cried the Fathers all. 
" Back, Lartius ! back, Herminius ! 

Back, ere the ruin fall ! " 

XXII. 

Back darted Spurius Lartius ; 

Herminius darted back ; 
And, as they passed, beneath their feet 

They felt the timbers crack. 
But w^hen they turned their faces, 

And on the further shore 
Saw brave Horatius stand alone, 

They would have crossed once more. 



200 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

XXIII. 

But with a crash hke thunder 

Fell every loosened beam ; 
And, hke a dam, the mighty wreck 

Lay right athwart the stream ; 
And a long shout of triumph 

Rose from the walls of Rome, 
As to the highest turret-tops 

Was splashed the yellow foam. 



Alone stood brave Ploratius, 

But constant still in mind ; 
Thrice thirty thousand foes before, 

And the broad flood behind. 
"Down with him! " cried false Sextus, 

With a smile on his pale face. 
" Now yield thee ! " cried Lars Porsena, 

" Now yield thee to uur grace." 

XXV. 

Round turned he, as not deigning 

Those craven ranks to see ; 
Nought spake he to Lars Porsena, 

To Sextus nought spake he; 
But he saw on Palatinus 

The Avhite porch of his home ; 
And he spake to the noble river, 

That rolls by the towers of Rome, 

XXVI. 

" O, Tiber ! Father Tiber ! 

To whom the Romans pray, 
A Roman's life, a Roman's arms. 

Take them in charge this day ! " 
So he spake, and speaking sheathed 

The good sword by his side, 
And, with his harness on his back, 

Plunged headlong in the tide." 

XXVII. 

No sound of joy or sorrow 

Was heard from either bank ; 



THO UGHT A NAL YSIS. 201 

But friends and foes in dumb surprise, 
With panting lip and straining eyes, 

Stood gazing where he sank; 
And when above the surges 

They saw his crest appear, 
All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry, 
And even the ranks of Tuscany 

Could scarce forbear to cheer. 

XXVIII. 

But fiercely ran the current, 

Swollen high by months of rain ; 
And fast his blood was flowing, 

And he was sore in pain, 
And heavy with his armor, 

And spent with changing blows ; 
And oft they thought him sinking, 

But still again he rose. 

XXIX. 

Never, I ween, did swimmer. 

In such an evil case, 
Struggle through such a raging flood 

Safe to the landing-place ; 
But his limbs were borne up bravely 

By the brave heart within, 
And our good father Tiber 

Bare bravely up his chin. 

XXX. 

"Curse on him ! " quoth false Sextus; 

" Will not the villain drown ? 
But for this stay, ere close of day 

We should have sacked the town ! " 
"Heaven help him ! " quoth Lars Porsena, 

"And bring him safe to shore ; 
For such a gallant feat of arms 

Was never seen before." 

XXXI. 

And now he feels the bottom ; 

Now on dry earth he stands ; 
Now round him throng the Fathers 

To press his gory hands; 



202 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

And now, with shouts and clapping, 

And noise of weeping loud, 
He enters through the River-Gate, 

Borne by the joyous crowd. 

T. B. MACAULAY. 

First Stanza. — Define Consul Why should he look 
darkly at the wall? Where was the foe f The line, Before the 
bridge goes down, shows what purpose upon the part of the 
loyal Romans? What town is to be saved? Upon whose 
lips does the author put the last four lines? With what 
rate should they be read? what pitch? what force? what 
volume? what quality? With what inflection does the 
stanza close? When do interrogative clauses or sentences 
employ the falling inflection ? 

Second Stanza. — Give something of Horatius. How 
many syllables in his name? He was captain of what gate? 
On which side of the river was the gate? and what river? 
In what direction does it flow at this point? What is taught 
of the character of Horatius in this stanza? How great were 
the odds? In whose favor were they? Give the meaning 
of the closing line. In what pitch, force, rate, quantity, 
and volume should these lines be read, as compared with the 
first stanza? 

Third Stanza. — Is there not considerable asked of Sir 
Consul f What do you understand by this line ? Use some 
other word for may in the second line. Give the meaning 
of in play. Is it easier to stop a thousand in a straight path 
than in a crooked ? Put some word in place of well. Put 
the fifth line into prose. Give the meaning of ]ceep. Is 
there a great variety of delivery in this stanza ? What style 
of delivery marks it? Should it be read slower or faster 
than the one preceding ? 

Fourth Stanza. — ^Tell something of Spurius Lartius. 
Pronounce the name. Define Ramnian. Give a few words 
concerning Herminius. Define and pronounce Titian. De- 
fine abide. To which of the many styles, conversational, 



THO IIGHT ANAL YSIS. 203 

descriptive, narrational, didactic, heroic, dramatic, imper- 
sonative, does this stanza belong? 

Fifth Stanza. — Spell the word quoth, phonetically. Give 
the meaning of straight as found here. Explain great array. 
Give the etymology of dauntless. Explain the last four 
lines, showing why they should be found in this connection. 
Give the meaning of spared. Were the days of old braver 
than any other days? In what sense is the word brave here 
used ? To what style does this stanza belong ? After the 
word Horatius, what change of pitch occurs? After the word 
Constd, what change ? What alteration of rate is made after 
speaking the second line ? What part of the stanza should 
be read most rapidly ? Between what clauses do the shortest 
pauses occur ? 

Sixth Stanza. — What word in this stanza is found oft- 
enest under emphasis? How does this stanza compare with 
any preceding one in its number of emphatic words? By 
explosion, expulsion, sudden change of pitch, or force, or 
volume, or quality, or quantity, and in other ways we em- 
phasize a word, — which of these is most employed in this 
stanza? Does history justify Macaulay in the picture he 
draws of Rome at that time ? 

Seventh Stanza, — Define harness, foremost, fathers, 
commons, bar, crow. How would the gesture, descriptive of 
the last line but one, differ from that of the last? With 
what rate should this stanza be read as compared with the 
sixth? 

Eighth Stanza. — Whence came the Tuscan army? 
What direction from Rome? In what sense was the army 
glorious f Explain the third line. Give the meaning of rank. 
Show^ the fitness of the figure, Like surges bright of a broad sea 
of gold. Was the glee well founded ? Give the meaning of 
ensigns. Which end of the bridge was the head? With 
what rate, volume, force, quality, and pitch should this 
stanza be delivered? 

Ninth Stanza. — Define vanguard. What was the 



204 EL OCUTION AND OR A TOR Y. 

nature of the laughter f Who were the three chiefs ? What 
deep airay is meant ? If in the last lines the reciter attempts 
to impersonate the action of the three chiefs, which arm 
should bear the shield? How should the arm be held? What 
is the position of the shield, and on what part of the arm is 
it worn? Could the action of the chiefs be as graphically 
described by any other gestures ? How would the facial ex- 
pression, the attitude, the pitch, the quality, and the force, 
in the first two lines compare with that of the second two 
lines ? There are two main methods of vocal attack. First : 
the staccato stroke, or a delivery dotted with brief pauses be- 
tween words, the words flying forcibly from the lips in an 
expulsive or explosive form. Second : a flowing method, in 
which the words seem bound, link by link, into an unbroken 
chain. This is called the effusive movement. Under which 
of these methods shall be classed the last five lines of this 
stanza? With what rate shall these lines be read? 

Tenth Stanza. — Scan the first line and note the num- 
ber of syllables the author means the word Lartius to have. 
Is this according to the true pronounciation ? Pronounce 
Annus, Seius, Picus. Define clove, fiery, proud, Umbrian. 
What style of delivery, vocally and visibly, characterizes 
this stanza? 

Eleventh Stanza. — How did the conflict just described, 
affect the Tuscan army ? What distance in feet is equal to' 
six spears^ -length f Give the meaning of space. Compare this 
stanza with the one preceding, in pitch, force, rate, volume, 
action, facial expression, position, and quality of voice. 

Twelfth Stanza — What do you learn of Astur's 
physical powers in this stanza? On the word haric, what in- 
flection ? Should Lo ! be given with the same inflection ? 
What position, action, and facial expression is fitted for the 
third and fourth lines ? 

Thirteenth Stanza. — In speaking the first and second 
lines, in which direction does Astur face ? In giving the 
third and fourth, in which direction does he face? Define 



THO UGHT ANAL YSJS. 205 

quoth. In what tone of voice, with what look of face, and 
with what action, do you think Astur would utter these last 
four lines? 

Fourteenth Stanza. — Describe a broadsword. What 
height is meant? Define deftly, and helm. Give the whole 
stanza with such gestures as you think the text demands. 

Fifteenth Stanza. — Give the meaning of one breathing 
space. Contrast the muscular condition indicated by the first 
two lines with that of the second two. Show the gesture 
suited to the sixth line. How should the gestures of the 
fifth and seventh lines differ from that of the sixth line ? 
How much is a Jvand-breadthf 

Sixteenth Stanza. — Describe the action adapted to the 
first four lines? Is there any poetic fault in the construc- 
tion of the fourth line ? Justify the line. What change 
of position occurs in preparation for the four succeeding 
lines? Give the meaning of fair as used here; of guests. 
Sere means where ? Give the meaning of Lucomo. 

Seventeenth Stanza. — Define lacked, prowess, lordly. 
Where is Etruria f What fatal place is meant ? What lines 
in this stanza require the slowest rate ? the lowest pitch ? the 
slighest volume? 

Eighteenth Stanza. — ^Give the meaning of noblest in 
this line. Explain the fifth line. Give the meaning and 
etymology of dire. In what key and with what force and 
quantity should forward be given ? In what respect should 
the giving of back differ from forward f Point out all the 
rhetorical pauses found in this stanza. 

Nineteenth Stanza.— Who was Sextusf Why say thy 
horm f What does the action of Sextus in the next to the 
last line indicate on his part ? What attitude should be taken 
in the second line ? What gesture in the last line ? In what 
pitch, and with what force, volume, and rate should the last 
four lines be given as compared with the first four? 

Twentieth Stanza. — With what pitch should thrice in 
the second line be read, as compared with thrice in the first, 



206 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

third, and fourth lines? Give the reason. What lines in 
this stanza are to be given with the most rapid rate, with the 
highest pitch, and with the greatest force? 

Twenty-first 'Stanza. — Give the significance o? man- 
fully and 'plied as here used. The closing half of this stanza 
is an admirable exercise for the cultivation of projected tones ; 
for the developing of the roundness and fullness of the upper 
tones, without injury to the voice. 

Twenty-second Stanza. — This stanza admirably illus- 
trates the sustained staccato style, with quick movement, and 
full force. What flight of voice should be used in this stanza? 
What variety of gestures may be used here ? 

Twenty-third Stanza. — Define athwart^ turret-tops, yel- 
low foam. With what rate, pitch, force, and volume should 
this stanza be read? Compare this with the following line 
on these points. Compare this stanza with the last half of 
the twenty-first on the same points. 

Twenty-fourth Stanza. — Give the meaning of con- 
stant. Why should Sextus be called false f Pronounce 
Porsena. Does this pronunciation harmonize with the meter ? 
How should the words cried false Sextus be spoken? Select 
the clauses that should be read with most force and with 
the highest key. What passages should be given conver- 
sationally ? 

Tw^enty-fifth Stanza. — Define craven and deigning. 
Pronounce naught. What pronunciation of Porsena fits the 
measure of this line? Where is Palatinusf and what is it? 
Scan the stanza, and point out the rhythmic liberties in it. 
How does this stanza compare with others in the selection, 
in the variety of modulation it requires ? 

Twenty-sixth Stanza. — Why is the term father used 
here ? Why did the Romans pray to Tiber ? What is meant 
by the third and fourth lines? Show what gestures should 
be used in giving the last four lines. 

Twenty-seventh Stanza. — Explain the use of crest. 
What and where is Tuscany? What form of force should 



THO UGHT ANAL YSIS. 207 

be used in this stanza? what pitch? Analyze this stanza, a 
line at a time, as to variations of rate. Does pause figure 
prominently in the delivery of this stanza ? Show where the 
pauses should be placed. 

Twenty-eighth Stanza. — What is predicated of he in 
this stanza ? What style of delivery is adapted to this stanza ? 

Twenty-ninth Stanza. — Give the meaning of iveen 
and of evil case. Should the manner of giving this stanza 
differ materially from that of the twenty -eighth ? 

Thirtieth Stanza. — Give the significance of stay. Pro- 
nounce ere. Define sacked. How should Porsena be pro- 
nounced here ? How is arTns used here ? What play of rate, 
pitch, force, quantity, quality, and of volume is found in 
this stanza? 

Thirty-first Stanza. — With what force, rate, pitch, 
and quality should these^ lines be read ? What vocal flights 
are found in this stanza? 



ANAI^YSIS OF THE BRIDES OF ENDERBY. 



The old mayor climbed the belfry tower, 
The ringers ran by two, by three ; 

" Pull if ye never pulled before ; 

Good ringers, pull your best," quoth he: 

"Play uppe, play uppe, Boston bells ! 

Play all your changes, all your swells. 
Play uppe The Brides of Enderby." 

II. 

Men say it was a stolen tyde — 

The Lord that sent it, he knows all ; 

But in myne ears doth still abide 

The message that the bells let fall : 

And there was naught of strange, beside 

The flights of mews and peewits pied 

By millions crouched on the old sea-wall. 



208 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

III. 
I sat and spun within the doore, 

My thread brake off, I raised myne eyes; 
The level sun, like ruddy ore, 

Lay sinking in the barren skies ; 
And dark against day's golden death 
She moved where Lindis wandereth, 
My Sonne's fair wife, Elizabeth. 



"Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" calling, 
Ere the early dews were faUing, 
Farre away I heard her song. 
" Cusha ! Cusha ! " all along ; 
Where the reedy Lindis floweth, 

Floweth, floweth, 
From the meads where melick groweth 
Faintly came her milking song: 

V. 

"Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" calling, 
" For the dews will soon be falling ; 
Leave your meadow grasses mellow. 

Mellow, mellow ; 
Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow ; 
Come uppe, Whitefoot ; come uppe, Lightfoot ; 
Quit the stalks of parsley hollow. 

Hollow, hollow; 
Come uppe. Jetty, rise and follow ; 

From the clovers lift your head ; 
Come uppe, Whitefoot; come uppe, Lightfoot; 
Come uppe. Jetty ; rise and follow. 

Jetty, to the milking shed." 

VI. 

If it be long, ay, long ago, 

When I beginne to think howe long, 
Again I hear the Lindis flow, 

Swift as an arrowe, sharp and strong; 
And all the aire, it seemeth mee, 
Bin full of floating bells, sayth shee, 
That ring the tune of Enderby. 



THO UGHT ANALYSIS. 209 

VII. 

Alle fresh the level pasture lay, 

And not a shadowe mote be seene, 
Save where full fyve good miles away 

The steeple towered from out the greene; 
And lo ! the great bell farre and wide 
Was heard in all the country side 
That Saturday at eventide. 

VIII. 

The swanherds, where there sedges are, 

Moved on in sunset's golden breath ; 
The shepherde lads I heard afarre, 

And my Sonne's wife, Elizabeth; 
Till floating o'er the grassy sea 
Came downe that kindly message free, 
The "Brides of Mavis Enderby." 

IX. 

Then some looked uppe into the sky, 

And all along where Lindis flows 
To where the goodly vessels lie, 

And where the lordly steeple shows, 
They sayde : "And why should this thing be? 
What danger lowers by land or sea ? 
They ring the tune of Enderby ! 

X. 

For evil news from Mablethorpe, 

Of pyrate galleys warping downe ; 
For shippes ashore beyond the scorpe, 

They have not spared to wake the towne. 
But while the west bin red to see, 
And storms be none, and pyrates flee, 
Why ring The Brides of Enderby?" 

XI. 

I looked without, and lo ! my sonne 

Came riding down with might and main ; 

He raised a shout as he drew on. 
Till all the welkin rang again : 

"Elizabeth! Elizabeth!" 

(A sweeter w^oman ne'er drew breath 

Than my Sonne's wife, Elizabeth.) 
18 



210 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 



"The old sea-wall," be cried, " is downe ; 

The rising tide comes on apace. 
And boats adrift in yonder towne 

Go sailing uppe the market-place." 
He shook as one that looks on death: 
**God save yon, mother! " straight he saith ; 
" Where is my wife, Elizabeth ? " 

XIII. 

" Good Sonne, where Lindis winds away, 
With her two bairns I marked her long ; 

And ere yon bells beganne to play, 
Afar I heard her milking-song." 

He looked across the grassy lea. 

To right, to left, " Ho, Enderby ! " 

They rang The Brides of Enderby ! 

XIV. 

With that he cried, and beat his breast; 

For, lo! along the river's bed 
A mighty eygre reared his crest, 

And uppe the Lindis raging sped. 
It swept with thunderous noises loud, 
Shaped like a curling snow-white cloud, 
Or like a demon in a shroud. 

XV. 

And rearing Lindis, backward pressed, 

Shook all her trembling bankes amaine ; 

Then madly at the eygre's breast 

Flung uppe her weltering walls again. 

Then bankes came downe with ruin and rout; 

Then beaten foam flew round about ; 

Then all the mighty floods were out. 

XVI. 

So farre, so fast, the eygre drave, 

The heart had hardly time to beat, 

Before a shallow, seething wave 

Sobbed in the grasses at oure feet : 



THOUGHT ANALYSIS. 211 

The feet had hardly time to flee 
Before it brake against the knee, 
And all the world was in the sea. 

XVII. 

Upon the roofe we sate that night, 

The noise of bells went sweeping 1^ ; 

I marked the lofty beacon-light 

Stream from the church-tower, red and high, 

A lurid mark and dread to see ; 

And awesome bells they were to mee, 

That in the dark rang " Enderby." 



They rang the sailor lads to guide 

From roofe to roofe who fearless rowed ; 

And I — my sonne was at my side, 

And yet the ruddy beacon glowed ; 

And yet he moaned beneath his breath, 

*' O come in life, or come in death ! 

lost! my love, Elizabeth." 

XIX. 

And didst thou visit him no more ? 

Thou didst, thou didst, my daughter deare 
The waters laid thee at his doore, 

Ere yet the early dawn was clear. 
Thy pretty bairns in fast embrace, 
The lifted sun shone on thy face, 
Downe drifted to thy dwelling-place. 

XX. 

That flow strewed wrecks about the grass, 
That ebbe swept out the flocks to sea; 

A fatal ebbe and flow, alas ! 

To manye more than myne and mee ; 

But each will mourn his own, she saith. 

And sweeter woman ne'er drew breath 

Than my Sonne's wife, Elizabeth. 

XXI. 

1 shall never hear her more 
By the reedy Lindis shore, 



212 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

"Cusha! Ciisha! Cusha!" calling, 
Ere the early dews be falling ; 
I shall never hear her song, 
"Cusha! Cusha!" all along 
Where the sunny Lindis floweth, 

Goeth, floweth ; 
Fron^ the meads where melick groweth, 
When the water winding down. 
Onward floweth to the town. jean ingelow. 

First Stanza. — What is a belfry tower f Why pull now, 
if they never pulled before ? What was the cause of this 
excitement? Give a brief sketch of the author of this 
poem. What is a poem ? Is blank verse poetry ? How 
does prose differ from either ? Define ply, changes, and swells. 
Explain the term Brides of Enderby. How shall the words in 
quotation in the stanza be read as compared with those not 
quoted? 

Second Stanza. — Give the meaning of stolen tyde. 
What message did the bells let fall ? Who tells this ? What 
are mews, and peewits f Give the meaning of pied, and of old 
sea-wall. What does the word millions modify ? In what style 
should this stanza be read? Locate the rhetorical pauses in 
the last two lines. 

Third Stanza. — Give the meaning of day^s golden death. 
What does dark modify ? What and Avhere is Lindis f Which 
direction was Elizabeth from her mother as indicated by the 
fifth line of this stanza? 

Fourth Stanza. — What is meant by Oushaf How 
should this word be given ? Upon what syllable of Cusha 
does the rhythm of this line place the accent? Define 
rhythm. Do dews fall ? What may be learned of the 
Lindis river from the fifth line ? Define meads and melick. 

Fifth Stanza. — Give the etymology of cowslip. What 
is meant by lAghtfootf What is parsley f What does it 
modify? How is this stanza supposed to be given ? Should 
it be sung according to any set music? In what sense may 
a stanza be called a song? 



THOUGHT ANALYSIS. 213 

Sixth Stanza. — Does the Lindis ordinarily flow 
swiftly ? What caused the rush of waters on this occasion ? 
Which direction were they rushing? Define stanza, verse, 
paragraph. 

Seventh Stanza. — Substitute some word for mote. 
Give the meaning of good miles. Define country side and 
eventide. What may be here learned of the geography of 
this region ? 

Eighth Stanza. — Define swanherds, sedges, and golden 
breath. Explain the first and second lines. The message 
was kindly in what sense? Pronounce mavis. Why should 
it be used in this connection ? 

Ninth Stanza. — -Why should some look up into the 
sky ? Why look along the Lindis to the goodly vessels ? 
Give the meaning of lordly. What steeple is meant here? 
Why should they look there? Spell the word lowers pho- 
netically. What is another term for time of Enderhy f 

Tenth Stanza.— Where is Mablethorpe? Explain the 
second and third lines. What did those people think of a 
red westf Are we to understand that pirates were actually 
being pursued at this moment? Answer the last line. What 
rate, force, pitch, and manner does this stanza require? 

Eleventh Stanza. — Give the meaning of welkin, might, 
and main. Give a brief history of Elizabeth. 

Twelfth Stanza. — Give the meaning of apace. What 
may be learned of the magnitude of the flood in lines three and 
four? What is meant here by straight f Explain the varia- 
tions of rate, force, pitch, and quality of voice required by 
the various parts of this stanza. 

Thirteenth Stanza.' — Spell hairns phonetically, and 
give its meaning. Define marked and lea. Compare Ho, 
Enderhy I with the Brides of Enderhy, in pitch, force, volume, 
and quality. 

Fourteenth Stanza. — Pronounce and define eygre and 
crest. In this stanza is the flight in volume a crescendo, or 
diminuendo? Where does it begin, and end? 



214 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

Fifteenth Stanza. — How could Lindis press back- 
ward? Give the significance of trenMing, and shook. Give 
the meaning of amaine. Explain the fourth line. What is 
meant by ivere outf How high were these walls? What 
were they sometimes called ? What are they called in 
America? Is there any flight of force in this stanza? De- 
scribe it. 

Sixteenth Stanza. — How does this stanza move, in 
comparison with the preceding? Is there any stanza in this 
poem that requires more rapid rate than this ? Select two 
or more stanzas that are to be read most rapidly. Select as 
many that require full volume, high pitch, and subdued 
voice. 

Seventeenth Stanza. — Give the meaning of heacon- 
light. What church tower is here meant? Define lurid and 
awesome. Justify the spelling of me with two e's. 

Eighteenth Stanza. — Where should rhetorical pauses 
be made in the first two lines? Give the meaning of ruddy. 
How should the first clause of the next to the last line com- 
pare with the last clause of the same line, in pitch and qual- 
ity ? How should these last two lines be given as compared 
with the lines just preceding? 

Nineteenth Stanza. — Define and pronounce bairns, 
and shone. In what rate, and with what pitch, force, and 
quality should this stanza be read ? 

T"wentieth Stanza. — Pronounce strewed, and saith. 
Who is speaking here? Should this stanza depart materially 
from the preceding in style of delivery ? 

Twenty-first Stanza. — How should the call of Cusha 
here compare with the same call earlier in the poem ? Why 
should there be any difference ? 



Part XI 



Oratorical Selections. 



ETHICAL. 



RAIN ON THE ROOF. 

When the humid shadows hover 

Over all the starry spheres, 
And the melancholy darkness 

Gently weeps in rainy tears, 
What a bliss to press the pillow 

Of a cottage-chamber bed, 
And lie listening to the patter 

Of the soft rain overhead ! 

Every tinkle on the shingles 

Has an echo in the heart; 
And a thousand dreamy fancies 

Into busy being start, 
And a thousand recollections 

Weave their air-threads into woof, 
As I listen to the patter 

Of the rain upon the roof. 

Now, in memory, comes my mother, 

As she used in years agone, 
To regard the darling dreamers 

Ere she left them till the dawn ; 
O, I feel her fond look on me. 

As I list to this refrain 
Which is played upon the shingles 

By the "patter of the rain. 

215 



216 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

Then my little seraph-Bister, 

With the wings and waving hair, 
And her star-eyed cherub-brother — 

A serene, angelic pair- 
Glide around my wakeful pillow, 

With their praise <jr mild reproof, 
As I listen to the murmur 

Of the soft rain on the roof. 

And another comes, to thrill me 

With her eyes' delicious blue; 
And I mind not, musing on her, 

That her heart was all untrue ; 
I remember but to love her 

With a passion kin to pain, 
And my heart's quick pulses quiver 

To the patter of the rain. 

Art hath naught of tone or cadence 

That can work with such a spell 
In the soul's mysterious fountains, 

Whence the tears of rapture well. 
As that melody of Nature, 

That subdued, subduing strain, 
Which is played upon the shingles 

By the patter of the rain. 

COATES KINNEY. 



WHAT'S HALLOWED GROUND? 

What 's hallowed ground ? Has earth a clod 
Its IMaker meant not should be trod 
By man, the image of his God, 

Erect and free, 
TJnscourged by »Superstition's rod 

To bow the knee ? 

What hallows ground where heroes sleep ? 
'T is not the sculptured piles you heap ! 
In dews that heavens far distant weep 

Their turf may bloom ; 
Or genii twine beneath the deep 

Their coral tomb; 



ETHICAL. 217 

But strew his ashes to the wind 

Whose sword or voice has served mankind; 

And is he dead, whose glorious mind 

Lifts thine on high ? 
To live in hearts we leave behind 

Is not to die. 

Is 't death to fall for Freedom's right ? 
He 's dead alone that lacks her light ! 
And murder sullies, in Heaven's bight, 

The sword he draws. 
What can alone ennoble fight? 

A noble cause 1 

Give that! and welcome war to brace 

Her drums ! and rend heaven's reeking space ! 

The colors planted face to face, 

The charging cheer, 
Though Death's pale horse lead on the chase, 

Shall still be dear. 

And place our trophies where men kneel 
To Heaven ; but Heaven rebukes my zeal ! 
The cause of truth and human weal, 

0, God above ! 
Transfer it from the sword's appeal 

To peace and love. 

Peace, Love ! the cherubim that join 

Their spread wings o'er Devotion's shrine, — 

Prayers sound in vain, and temples shine, 

Where they are not ; 
The heart alone can make divine 

Religion's spot ! 



What 's hallowed ground? 'Tis what gives birth 
To sacred thoughts in souls of worth ! 
Peace ! Independence ! Truth ! go forth 

Earth's compass round ; 
And your high priesthood shall make earth 

All hallowed ground. thomas campbell. 

19 



218 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

THE SEVEN DECADES OF MAN. 



The first ten years of human existence are years of dreams, 
of aimless, ceaseless action, of marvelous mental and physical 
growth. Starting with so little stock, how rapid the acquisi- 
tion, how amazing the unfolding! How pliant, how in- 
nocent, how happy is wont to be the first decade of life ! 

II. 

During these years the bud of boyhood bursts into the 
full-blown bloom of man. During these years countless am- 
bitions have their birth. To these years all things seem at- 
tainable. Through these years the blood burns, the nerves 
tingle, the eyes sparkle, the step is elastic, and hope rides 
high. The spirit, borne on the wings of imagination, soars 
into the sublimest heights. To this decade no barrier seems 
insurmountable. To the infinite faith of youth the future is 
unbounded. This is an age which fights imaginary battles, 
wins imaginary victories, meets with no reverses, and brooks 
no peer within its sphere. The closing of this decade finds 
youth happy in heart, quick in motion, colossal in egotism, 
deaf to advice, blind to self-defects, free from self-reproach, 
and wholly self-sufficient. 

III. 

These are kaleidoscopic years. The pulse beats at its 
full. The tide runs high, even to the brim of the banks of 
the river of life. If now the passions take their sway, the 
banks of temperance are overflowed, the levees of prudence 
are battered down, and the dikes of caution are swept away. 
Happy he whose conscience survives the flood ! That saved, 
he has a hand at the helm that may lead him back into the 
channel of upright moral life ; that lost, when the waters 
recede, his little bark will strand in the low and marshy mire 
of immorality. 



n 

ETHICAL. 219 

IV. 

This decade bids adieu to many joys and hopes, to many 
thrills and lurings on, to many playful sports and bubblings 
up, to many castles in the air and uncompleted plans. It 
has left behind it many a heart-ache and many a mistake. 
By the merits and the faults, by the resolutions kept and 
broken, by all that has gone before, the fourth decade should 
profit. These are the years that lie nearest to man's full 
maturity ; and if, with the years before, they are lived aright, 
their close finds man in the prime of his physical and intel- 
lectual power. This is the age which should pre-eminently 
profit by the experience of the past, guiding man into safer 
paths and wiser ways. 

V. 

These are the years of the golden harvest-home. Seeds 
of knowledge early sown have now developed into the full 
grown grain. Bread cast upon the waters during the first 
fresh flush of life may now be gathered in. The tree stands 
strong and high, broad-bowed and grand in manhood's full 
estate. Life is wont in this decade to touch its topmost 
physical and intellectual limit. 

VI. 

The current of life begins to slacken ; the pulse is not so 
full; the step is not so sturdy; the stride is not so strong 
nor long ; the zenith has been passed ; the shadow is falling 
to the east; the sun is dropping to the west. These are 
years of retrospection. As the step begins to falter and the 
eyes begin to fade, the mind begins to wander backward o'er 
the track of by-gone days. These are years when men are 
prone to form comparisons, and the now is almost always made 
to suffer beside its rival then. All things go to show that 
man in the sixth decade has passed into the latter half of 
the circle of life, and that, should he live the allotted span 
or threescore years and ten, he will have touched his 
starting point. 



220 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

VII. 

The shades are growing longer to the east. The sun at 
every dip is seen more nearly to approach the western horizon. 
The leaves, for some time seared, are falling fast. The 
boughs begin to shrink. The circulation fails. The trunk 
bends before the blast of years. The sun sets. Dusk 
arrives. The stars of promise shine. The golden bowl is 
broken; and the circle is complete. 

VIRGIL A. PINKLEY, 



GRADATIM. 



Heaven is not gained at a single bound ; 

But we build the ladder by which we rise 
From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, 

And we mount to its summit round by round. 

I count this thing to be grandly true, 

That a noble deed is a step towards God, 
Lifting the soul from the common sod 

To purer air and broader view. 

We rise by things that are 'neath our feet, 

By what we have mastered of good and gain, 
By the pride deposed and the passion slain. 

And the vanquished ills that we hourly meet. 

We hope, we aspire, we resolve, we trust. 

When the morning calls us to life and light; 
But our hearts grow weary, and ere the night 

Our lives are trailing the sordid dust. 

We hope, we resolve we aspire, we pray ; 

And we think that we mount the air on wings 
Beyond the recall of sensual things. 

While our feet still cling to the heavy clay. 

Wings for the angels, but feet for the men ! 

We may borrow the wings to find the way ; 

We may hope and resolve, and aspire and pray, 
But our feet must rise, or we fall again. 



ETHICAL. 221 

Only in dreams is a ladder thrown 

From the weary earth to the sapphire walls ; 
But the dreams depart, and the vision falls, 

And the sleeper wakes on his pillow of stone. 

Heaven is not reached at a single bound ; 

But we build the ladder by which we rise 
From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, 

And we mount to its summit round by round. 

J. G. HOLLAND. 



I.AUGHTKR. 



I SAID, and I say again, no day can be so sacred but that 
the laugh of a child will make the holiest day more sacred 
still. Strike with hand of fire, O weird musician, thy harp 
strung with Apollo's golden hair; fill the vast cathedral 
aisles with symphonies sweet and dim, deft toucher of the 
organ keys; blow, bugler, blow, until thy silver notes do 
touch the skies with moonlit waves, and charm the lovers 
wandering on the vine-clad hills, — but know, your sweetest 
strains are discords all, compared with childhood's happy 
laugh, the laugh that fills the eye with light and every heart 
with joy ! O rippling river of life, thou art the blessed 
boundary-line between the beasts and man, and every way- 
ward wave of thine doth drown some fiend of care ! O 
laughter, divine daughter of joy, make dimples enough in 
the cheeks of the world to catch and hold and glorify all the 
tears of grief I e. G. ingersoll. 



THE MODBlv AMERICAN BOY. 

A MODEL American boy ! 

The pride of his parents, their joy ; 

The staff of their life. 

No factor of strife — 
A manly American boy. 



222 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

A never-will- shirk — this boy ! 

No-fear-of-the-work — this boy ! 
So busy and bright, 
A sight to delight — 

This sturdy A merican boy ! 

A stranger-to-fail — this boy ! 

Not slow-as-a-snail — this boy ! 
Not one of the shoddy 
Nor big busy-body — 

Refreshing American boy! 

No shainming-nor-show — this boy ! 

No bluster-and-blow — this boy ! 
No sting in his tongue, 
His praise should be sung — 

All praise this American boy. 

A know-his-own-mind — this boy ! 

A heart-that-is-kind — this boy ! 
His aim ever high, 
" I '11 try " in his eye — 

Ambitious American boy! 

A free-from-all-guile— this boy ! 

Not all-for-the-style — this boy ! 
He 's seeking just now 
The why and the how — 

Progressive American boy ! 

A lover-of-light — this boy ! 

Because-he-does-right — this boy: 
He 's making his mark — 
Not out on a lark — 

Far-seeing American boy ! 

Not-a-bit-of-a-dude — this boy I 
Hates-all-that-is-lewd— this boy. 
He rises in might, 
Defending the right — 
Much needed American boy ! 

An honor-the-law — this boy ! 

Not-given-to-jaw — this boy ! 
His voice is for peace — 
His kind should increase — 

All greet this American boy! 



ETHICAL. 223 

He 's courteous and sage — this boy ; 
Ahead of his age — this boy ; 

He 's good to the old, 

Not simply for gold — 
A pattern for every boy ! 

A temperate youth — this boy ; 
A teller-of-truth — this boy ; 

Tobacco and rum 

To him never come — 
Clear-headed American boy ! 

He knows they 're a curse — this boy ; 

That they drain health and purse — this boy; 

That they cling like a chain 

To body and brain — 
Long live this American boy ! 

He 's one of the few — this boy ; 
In love he is true— this boy ; 

No breaker of hearts — 

Not one of the smarts — 
Young Queen, you can lean on this boy. 

A model American boy! 
An ever-full fountain of joy ! 

I 'm sure you '11 agree, 

In saying with me. 
He 's a model American boy. 

VIRGIL A. PINKLEY. 



THE STUDENT. 



"Poor fool! " the base and soulless worldling cries, 

" To waste his strength for naught, to blanch his cheek, 

And bring pale death upon him in his prime. 

"Why did he not to pleasure give his days, 

His nights to rest, and live while live he might?" 

What is 't to live? To breathe the vital air. 

Consume the fruits of earth, and doze away 

Existence? Never! this is living death ; 

'Tis brutish life, base groveling. E'en the brutes 

Of nobler nature live not lives like this. 



224 ELOC UTION AND OR A TOE Y, 

Shall man, then, formed to be creation's lord, 
Stamped with the impress of divinity, and sealed 
With God's own signet, sink below the brute ? 
Forbid it. Heaven ! it can not, nmst not be ! 

O, when the mighty God from nothing brouglit 
This universe ; when at his word the light 
Burst forth, the sun was set in heaven, 
And earth was clothed in beauty ; when the last, 
The noblest work of all, from dust he framed 
Our bodies in his image ; when he placed 
Within its temple-shrine of clay, the soul, 
The immortal soul, infused by his own truth, — 
Did he not show, 't is this which gives to man 
His high prerogative? Why, then, declare 
That he who thinks less of his worthless frame, 
And lives a spirit, even in this world. 
Lives not as well, lives not as long, as he 
Who drags out years of life, without one thought, 
One hope, one wish, beyond the present hour? 

How shall we measure life? Not by the years. 
The months, the days, the moments, that we pass 
On earth. By him whose soul is raised above 
Base worldly things, whose heart is fixed in heaven : 
His life is measured by that soul's advance. 
Its cleansing from pollution and from sin, 
The enlargement of its powers, the expanded field 
Wherein it ranges, till it glows and burns 
With holy joys, with high and heavenly hopes. 

When in the silent night, all earth lies hushed 
In slumber, when the glorious stars shine out. 
Each star a sun, each sun a central light 
Of some fair system, ever wheeling on 
In one unbroken round, and that again 
Revolving round another sun, while all. 
Suns, stars, and systems proudly roll along 
In one majestic ever-onward course 
In space uncircumscribed and limitless, — 
O, think you then the undebased soul 
Can calmly give itself to sleep — to rest? 



ETHICAL. 225 

And it is joy to muse upon the written page, 

Whereon are stamped the gushings of the soul 

Of genius ; where, in never-dying Hght, 

It glows and flashes as the hghtning's glare ; 

Or where it burns with ray more mild, more sure, 

And wins the soul, that half would turn away 

From its more brilliant flashings. These are hours 

Of holy joy, of bliss so pure that earth 

May hardly claim it. Let his lamp grow dim, 

And flicker to extinction ; let his cheek 

Be pale as sculptured marble, and his eye 

Lose its bright luster, till liis shrouded frame 

Is laid in dust. Himself can never die ! 

His years, 'tis true, are few, his life is long; 
For he has gathered many a precious gem ; 
Enraptured, he has dwelt where master minds 
Have poured their own deep musings, and his heart 
Has glowed with love to Him who framed us thus. 
Who placed within this worthless tegument 
The spark of pure divinity which shines 
With light unceasing. 

Yes, his life is long; 
Long to the dull and loathsome epicures ; 
Long to the slothful man, the groveling herds 
Who scarcely know they have a soul within ; 
Long to all those who, creeping on to death, 
Meet in the grave, the earth-worm's banquet-hall, 
And leave behind no monuments for good. 



SEED-SOWING. 



Sow the seed of soothing kindness, 

To dispel the gloom and pain ; 
Sow bright words of warmth and welcome, 

That o'er earth good-will may reign ; 
Sow upon a soil prolific 

That shall bear an hundred-fold, 
Choking out the thorns and briers, 

Turning weeds to stalks of gold. 



226 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

Scorn thou not to sow, moreover, 

On the fields less rich in loam, 
Should it bear not many measures, 

It will have its harvest-home. 
If the sower will but hearken. 

He will hear what God will keep — 
Whether good or whether evil. 

What ye sow that ye shall reap. 

Though the soil be scant and sandy, 

And the rocks be thick and keen, 
With the hand of faith sow broadly — 

Some stray soil may lie unseen ; 
This may nourish seed sufficient 

To bring harvest-time around ; 
And the hand of thrift may garner 

From the uninviting ground. 

What though way-side fowls fly over, 

You can cover well the seed ; 
What though tares by Satan scattered 

Should arise in evil greed ! — 
Wait, if must be, till the harvest 

Ripens grain and tares in turn ; 
Then the grain thou mayest gather. 

And the tares, may'st bind and bum. 

Sow the seeds of love and mercy. 

Worthy work for angel hands ! 
Sympathy, and truth, and justice. 

Kitting theme for heavenly bands ! 
Sow good-will among thy neighbors. 

Reap reward for thee in store ; 
On the sower that is faithful 

Blessings be ior evermore. 

VIRGIL A. PINKLEY. 



STAR OF THE EVENING. 

Star of the evening, 

Glory on high, 
Queen of the beautiful, 

Gem of the sky; 



ETHICAL. 227 

Light of the traveler, 

Seeking for rest ; 
Ever thus peacefully 

Look from the west. 

Eyes that are watching, 

Gaze upon thee ; 
Eyes that are weary, 

Waiting for me ; 
Joy of the wanderer. 

Evermore shine, 
Smiling I gaze on thee, 

Smile thou on mine. 

FLOEUS B. PLIilPTON. 



A PSALM OF LIFE. 

Tell me not, in mournful numbers, 

Life is but an empty dream ! 
For the soul is dead that slumbers. 

And things are not what they seem. 
Life is real I Life is earnest I 

And the grave isnot its goah, 
Dust thou art, to dust returnest, 

Was not spoken of the soul. 
Is ot enjoyment, and not sorrow, 

Is our destined end or way ; 
But to act, that each to-morrow 

Find us farther than to-day. 

Art is long, and Time is fleeting, 

And our hearts, though stout and brave, 
Still, like muffled drums, are beating 

Funeral marches to the grave. 

In the world's broad field of battle, 

In the bivouac of Life, 
Be not like dumb, driven cattle : 

Be a hero in the strife ! 

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant ; 
Let the dead Past bury its dead. 

Act — act in the lix-ing Present- 
Heart vv'ithin, and God o'erhead. 



228 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

Lives of great men all remind us 
We can make our lives sublime, 

And, departing, leave behind us 

Footsteps on the sands of time, — 

Footsteps, that perhaps another. 
Sailing o'er life's solemn main, 

A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, 
Seeing, shall take heart again. 

Let us, then, be up and doing. 
With a heart for any fate ; 

Still achieving, still pursuing, 
Learn to labor and to wait. 



LONGFELLOW. 



BEREAVED. 

He walked the earth with downcast eyes. 
In which are sorrow and the pain 
That softens in heart-easing rain. 

The tumult of the busy world, 
Its noisy strife and toil he hears; 
It falls upon unheeding ears. 

For what to him are greed and gain. 
Who, mourning like the woodland dove. 
Broods o'er the vacant nest of love ? 

FLORUS B. PLIMPTON. 



THE SNOW ANGEL. 

The sleigh-bells danced that winter night ; 

Old Brattleborough rang with glee ; 
The windows overflowed with light ; 

Joy ruled each hearth and Christmas-tree. 
But to one the bells and mirth were naught: 
His soul with deeper joy was fraught. 



ETHICAL. 229 

He waited until the guests were gone ; 
He waited to dream his dream alone ; 
And the night wore on. 

Alone he stands in the silent night ; 

He piles the snow in the village square ; 
With spade for chisel, a statue white 

From the crystal quarry rises fair. 
No light, save the stars, to guide his hand, 
But the image obeys his soul's command. 

The sky is draped with fleecy lawn ; 

The stars grow pale in the early dawn ; 
But the lad toils on. 

And lo ! in the morn the people came 

To gaze at the wondrous vision there ; 
And they called it "The Angel," divining its name, 

For it came in silence and unaware. 
It seemed no mortal hand had wrought 
The uplifted face of prayerful thought ; 

But its features wasted beneath the sun ; 

Its life went out ere the day was done ; 
And the lad dreamed on. 

And his dream was this : In the years to be 

I will carve the angel in lasting stone ; 
In another land, beyond the sea, 

I will toil in darkness, will dream alone ; 
While others sleep I will find a way 
Up through the night to the light of day. 

There 's nothing desired beneath star or sun 

Which patient genius has not won ; 
And the boy toiled on. 

The years go by. He has wrought with might, 
He has gained renown in the land of art; 

But the thought inspired that Christmas night 
Still kept its place in the sculptor's heart ; 

And the dream of the boy, that melted away 

In the light of the sun that winter day, 
Is embodied at last in enduring stone, 
Snow Angel in marble — his purpose won ; 
And the man toils on. 

WALLACE BRUCE. 



230 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 



BETTER THAN GOLD. 

Better than gold in the miser's grasp; 
Better than gold in the mean man's clasp ; 
Better than gold which the rich man hoards; 
Better than perishing gold affords, — 

Is charity with open hand, 

Extending aid throughout the land ; 

Yea, better than the miser's gold 

Is charity — a thousand-fold. 

Better than gold is the word of cheer, 
Banishing far from the heart the tear; 
Better than gold is a kindly deed. 
Bettering man in the hour of need. 

And better far a cheerful life. 

Than gold obtained through toil and strife ; 

A word of cheer is wealth untold, 

And better than the miser's gold. 

Better than gold is the wealth we reap, 

Garnered from knowledge that's broad and deep; 

Better than gold is a cultured mien. 

Sweetening life from a source unseen. 

And better far than gold refined 
Is wisdom gleaned to bless mankind ; 
A knowledge deep is wealth untold, 
And better far than miser's gold. 

Better than gold is a conscience clear, 
Knowing not sorrow, remorse or fear ; 
Coming to few as a happy lot, 
Oftener found in the poor man's cot 

Than in the homes of the rich and great, 

Or in the halls of high estate. 

A conscience clear is joy untold. 

And better than the miser's gold. 

Better than all that is born of gold. 
Better is health by a thousand fold ; 
Better is virtue, and hope, and rest. 
Better is love, as a faithful guest. 



ETHICAL. 231 

To have a heart that's warm within ; 
To live a life unstained by sin ; 
To dare the right with courage bold, 
Is better far than hoarding gold. 

VIRGIL A. PINK LEY. 



IF WB KNEW. 



If we knew the woe and heartache 

Waiting for us down the road ; 
If our lips could taste the wormwood ; 

If our backs could feel the load, — 
Would we waste the da)'' in wishing 

For a time that ne'er can be ? 
AVould we wait with such impatience 

For our ship to come from sea? 

If we knew the baby-fingers 

Pressed against the window-pane 
Would be cold and stiiF to-morrow, 

Never trouble us again, 
Would the bright eyes of our darling 

Catch the frown upon our brow? 
Would the print of rosy fingers 

Vex us then as they do now ? 

Ah ! these little ice-cold fingers ! 

How they point our memories back 
To the hasty words and actions 

Strewn along our backward track ! 
How these little hands remind us, 

As in snowy grace they lie. 
Not to scatter thorns, but roses, 

For our reaping by and by. 

Strange we never prize the music 

Till the sweet-voiced bird has flown ; 
Strange that we should slight the violets 

Till the lovely flowers are gone ; 
Strange that summer skies and sunshine 

Never seem one-half so fair 
As when winter's snowy pinions 

Shake their white down in the air. 



232 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

Let us gather up the sunheams 

Lying all around our path ; 
Let us keep the wheat and roses, 

Casting out the thorns and chaff; 
Let us find our sweetest comfort 

In the blessings of to-day ; 
With the patient hand removing 

All the briers from our wav. 



SNOW-FLAKES. 



Again the gates of heaven's laboratory are ajar. The 
fresh snow-flakes, wrought into wondrous forms of geo- 
metric grace and crystalline beauty, soft and pure, and 
white as the down from an angel's wings, are lazily, lan- 
guidly falling. 

It snows ! All eyes are gazing ; all hearts feel a new 
emotion. The phenomenon is an old one, and yet it is new. 
But few suns have set, and fewer moons have waned, since 
earth lay asleep in her ermine of snow; yet the days are 
many, and the moons are long, if measured by the vicissi- 
tudes of men, or the transformations of Nature, since earth 
awoke from her winter dream, and donned the blooming 
robes of beauteous spring. 

Germs have grown, and buds have burst, and blossoms 
have bloomed into fruitage, since the snow-flakes fell before; 
and a spring of buds and bird-songs, a summer of roses and 
rainbows, an autumn of golden sheaves and harvest-homes 
and joyous hearts, have gleamed in the verdant vaUey be- 
tween the old snow-drifts and the new. 

Waves of sadness and billows of gladness have rolled al- 
ternately over human hearts, as threatening storm-clouds have 
lowered, and the bright bows of promise and of hope gilded 
their sable folds. 

These flossy flakes of falling snow, how eloquent they are 
of sad and joyous memories of the past, and how prophetic 



ETHICAL. 233 

of the future ! .What treasures they are to hearts that hope ; 
what harbingers of woe to those that despair ! 

They mirror forth the bright visions of social glee around 
the glowing hearth, and ''in the frosty air of night," beneath 
the brilliant, beaming stars. They echo the melody of joy- 
ous carols around the Christmas-tree, and the glad voices 
of merriment, commingled with the wild music of the jin- 
gling bells. 

But pleasure will not always rule the hour; with the 
major notes of joy must sometimes be mingled the minor 
tones of woe ; and the voice of festivity will anon be hushed 
by the pitiful wail from hovels of squalor and want, crying 
for bread. 

"Poor sufferer! thy sorrows thy God only knows; 
'Tis a most bitter lot to be poor when it snows!" 

O, may the favored ones, on whom blessings are showered 
in the falling snow, in the midst of their festivity, remember 
the poor with their bounty, and offer up in their behalf the 
warm orisons of supplicating hearts to that God " who tem- 
pereth the winds to the shorn lamb." 

Though the falling of snow may hide from our view all 
verdure and bloom, and lock up in the cold embraces of 
death the fairest forms of earth, yet "for us all some sweet 
hope lies deeply buried from human eyes." 

Earth, in her majestic march around the sun, will swiftly 
whirl in a giddy waltz from Scorpio to Taurus again, and 
by all the shining constellations between. 

The snow-mounds will melt in the genial warmth of the 
vernal sun, and all nature will be resurrected again to a 
new and beautiful life. 

"Winter will leave us when spring-time appears ; 
April will meet us with smiles and with tears; 
Bright, joyous May will come skipping along; 
June, with her roses, will join the glad throng." 

It will be summer-time by and by. deronda. 

20 



234 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 



THE MODElv AMERICAN GIRI,. 

A PRACTICAL, plain young girl ; 
Not-afraid-of-the-rain young girl ; 

A poetical posy, 

A ruddy and rosy, 
A helper-of-self young girl. 

At-home-in-her-place young girl ; 
A never-will-lace young girl, 

A toiler serene, 

A life that is clean, 
A princess-of-peace young girl. 

A wear-her-own-hair young girl ; 
A free-from-a-stare young girl ; 

A-waste-not-an-hour, 

No pale parlor flower, 
A picture-of-health young girl. 

Plenty room in her shoes — this girl ; 
A free-from-the-blues — this girl, 

Not a bang on her brow, 

No fraud will allow. 
She 's just what she seems — this girl. 

Not a reader-of-trash young girl ; 
Not a cheap-jewel-flash young girl ; 

Not a sipper of rum, 

Not a chewer of gum — 
Kemarkably sensible girl ! 

An early retiring young girl ; 
An active, aspiring young girl ; 

An early ariser, 

A dandy-despiser, 
We honor this lovable girl. 

A lover-of-prose young girl ; 

Not a turn-up-the-nose young girl ; 

Not given to splutter, 

Not '* utterly utter," 
A matter-of-fact young girl. 



ETHICAL, 235 

A rightly ambitious young girl; 
Red-lips-and-delicious young girl ; 

A clear, sparkling eye 

That says "I will try "— 
A sure-to-succeed young girl. 
An honestly courting young girl ; 
A never-seen-flirting young girl ; 

A quiet, demure, 

A modest and pure — 
A fit-for-a-wife young girl. 
A sought-every where young girl. 
A future-most-fair young girl ; 

An ever-discreet, 

We too seldom meet 
This queen-of-the-queens young girl. 

VIRGIL A. PINKLEY. 



WAINAMOINBN'S HARP-SONGS. 

FROM THE KALEVALA, THE EPIC POEM OF FINLAND. 

Near the oven slept a blind man ; 
Rousing from his couch of slumber. 
Spake the wizard from his corner : 
*' Cease at once this wretched playing. 
Make an end of all this discord ; 
It benumbs mine ears for hearing, 
Racks my brain, despoils my senses, 
Robs me of the sweets of sleeping. 
If the harp of Suomi's people 
True delight can not engender, 
Can not bring the notes of pleasure. 
Can not sing to sleep the aged, 
Cast the thing upon the waters, 
Sink it in the deep sea-eddies ; 
Take it back to Kalevala, 
To the home of him that made it, 
To the hands of its creator." 

Thereupon the harp made answer, 
To the blind man sang these measures: 
" Shall not fall upon the waters, 
Shall not sink beneath the billows ; 
I will play for my creator, 



236 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

Sing in melody and concord 
In the fingers of my master." 

Carefully the harp was carried 
To the artist that had made it, 
To the hands of its creator, 
To the feet of AViiinamoinen. 

Thereupon the ancient minstrel, 
The eternal wizard-singer. 
Laves his hands to snowy whiteness, 
Sits upon the rock of joyance. 
On the stone of song he settles. 
On the mount of silver clearness, 
On the summit, golden colored ; 
Takes the harp by him created, 
In his hands the harp of fiwh-bone ; 
With his knee the arch supporting. 
Takes the harp-strings in his fingers, 
Speaks these words to those assembled : 
" Hither come, ye Northland people, 
Come and listen to my playing. 
To the harp's entrancing measures. 
To my songs of joy and gladness." 

Wainamoinen touched the harp-strings, 
Deftly plied his skillful fingers 
To the strings that he had fashioned; 
Now was gladness rolled on gladness. 
And the harmony of pleasure 
Echoed from the hills and mountains; 
Added singing to his playing. 
Out of joy did joy come welling, 
Now resounded marvelous music. 
All of Northland stopped and listened. 
All the creatures of the forest, 
All the beasts that haunt the woodlands. 
On their nimble feet came bounding. 
Came to listen to his playing, 
Came to hear his songs of joyance. 
Leaped the squirrels from the branches, 
Merrily from birch to aspen ; 
Climbed the ermines on the fences, 
O'er the plains the elk-deer bounded. 
And the lynxes purred with pleasure. 



ETHICAL. 237 

Wolves awoke in far-off swamp-lands, 
Bounded o'er the marsh and heather ; 
And the bear his den deserted, 
Left his lair within the pine- wood; 
Settled by a fence to hearken, 
Leaned against the listening gate- ways ; 
But the gate-ways yield beneath him. 
Now he climbs the fir-tree branches, 
That he may enjoy and wonder. 
Climbs and listens to the music 
Of the harp of Wainamoinen. 

Tapiola's wisest senior, 
Metsola s most charming landlord. 
And of Tapio, the people, 
Young and aged, men and maidens, 
Flew like red-deer up the mountains, 
There to listen to the playing. 
To the harp of Wainamoinen. 
Tapiola's wisest mistress. 
Hostess of the glen and forest, 
Eobed herself in blue and scarlet. 
Bound her limbs with silver ribbons, 
Sat upon the woodland-summit, 
On the branches of the birch-tree. 
There to listen to the playing, 
To the high-born hero's harping, 
To the songs of AVainamoinen. 

All the birds that fly in mid-air. 
Fall like snow-flakes from the heavens. 
Fly to hear the minstrel's playing, 
Hear the harp of Wainamoinen. 
Eagles in their lofty eyrie. 
Hear the songs of the enchanter; 
Swift, they leave their unfledged young ones, 
Fly and perch around the singer ; 
From the heights the hawks descending, 
From the clouds down swoop the falcons, 
Ducks arise from inland waters, 
Swans come gliding from the marshes ; 
Tiny finches, green and golden, 
Fly in flocks that darken sunlight, 
Come in myriads to listen, 



238 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

Perch upon the head and shoulders 
Of the charming AVainamoinen, 
Sweetly singing to the playing 
Of the ancient bard Jind minstrel. 
And the daughters of the welkin, 
Nature's well-beloved daughters, 
Listen all in rapt attention ; 
Some are seated on the rainbow, 
Some upon the crimson cloudlets. 
Some upon the dome of heaven. 

In their hands the Moon's fair daughters 
Hold their weaving-combs of silver; 
In their hands the Sun's sweet maidens 
Grasp the handles of their distaffs, 
AVeaving with their golden shuttles. 
Spinning from their silver spindles, 
On the red-rims of the cloudlets. 
On the bow of many colors. 
As they hear the minstrel playing. 
Hear the harp of Wainamoinen, 
Quick they drop their combs of silver. 
Drop their spindles from their fingers. 
And the golden threads are broken. 
Broken are the threads of silver. 

All the fish in Suomi- waters 
Hear the songs of the magician, 
Come on flying fins to listen 
To the harp of Wainamoinen. 
Come the trout with graceful motion, 
Water-dogs with awkward movements, 
From the water-clifFs the salmon ; 
From the sea-caves come the whiting, 
From the deeper caves, the bill-fish ; 
Come the pike from beds of sea-fern ; 
Little fish with eyes of scarlet, 
Leaning on the reeds and rushes, 
With their heads above the surface. 
Come to hear the harp of joyance, 
Hear the songs of the enchanter. 

Ahto, master of the waters, 
Ancient king with beard of sea-grass, 
Lifts his head above the billows. 



ETHICAL. 239 



In a boat of water-lilies 
Gliding to the shore in silence, 
Listens to the wondrous singing, 
To the harp of Wainamoinen ; 
These the words the sea-king utters: 
*' Never have I heard such playing, 
Never heard such strains of music, 
Never since the sea was fashioned. 
As the songs of this enchanter, 
This sweet singer, Wainamoinen." 

Sotko's daughters of the blue-deep. 
Sisters of the wave-washed ledges. 
On the colored strands are sitting, 
Smoothing out their sea-green tresses 
With their combs of molten silver, 
AYith their silver-handled brushes, 
Brushes forged with golden bristles. 
When they hear the magic playing. 
Hear the harp of Wainamoinen, 
Fall tneir brushes on the billows, 
Fall their combs with silver handles. 
To the bottom of the waters ; 
Unadorned their heads remaining, 
And uncombed their sea-green tresses. 

Comes the hostess of the waters, 
Ancient hostess robed in flowers, 
Rising from her deep sea-castle. 
Swimming to the shore in wonder. 
Listens to the minstrel's playing, 
To the harp of Wainamoinen. 
As the magic tones re-echo. 
As the singer's song out-circles. 
Sinks the hostess into slumber. 
On the rocks of many colors, 
On her watery couch of joyance ; 
Deep the sleep that settles o'er her. 

Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel. 
Plays one day, and then a second ; 
Pla5''s the third from morn till even. 
There is neither man nor hero, 
Neither ancient dame, nor maiden, 
Not in Metsola a dau^rhter, 



240 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

Whom he does not toucli to weeping; 
Weep the young, and weep tli(^ aged, 
Weep the motherH, weep the daughters, 
Weep the warriorH and heroeH, 
At tlie nniHic of IjIh playing, 
At the songs of the inagieian. 
Wainainoinen's tears couw flowing, 
Welling from the nwister's eyelids; 
IVarly tear-drops coursing <l<>vvn\vard. 
Larger than the; wiiortleberries. 
Finer tlmn tlie pearls of oeean, 
Smoother tiian the eggs of moor-li(;ns, 
!>righler than the eyes of swallows. 
As the t<';ir-(lr()ps fall and mingle, 
Form they streandets from the eyehds 
Of tli(^ mast(!r of magicians; 
Coursing on, and (Coursing ever. 
To the blue mere's sandy margin, 
To the deeps of crystal waters. 
Lost among the reeds and ruslu^s. 

Spake at last tlu^ swc^et toiK^d singer* 
" Is then; oni! in all this concourse, 
One in all this vast asscnrddy, 
That can gather uj) my tear-drops 
From the deei), pellucid waters?" 

Thus the younger heroes answered, 
Tlius the sage and bearded seniors: 
•*Th(;re is none in all this concourse, 
None in all this vast assend>ly. 
That can gather u|) thy tear-drops 
Froin tlu! deep, pellucid waters." 

Spak(! agaiii wise \Vainamoin(Mi: 
" Ih; that gathers up my t(!ar-drops 
From tlie deeps of (crystal waters. 
Shall receive a beauteous plumagt;." 

Came a raven, flying, croaking. 
And tlu! minstrel thus ad<lr(.'ssed hiuw 
" liring, () raven, bring my tear-drops 
Froin tlie(;rystal laker's abysses ! 
I will giv(; th(!(! beauteous feathers, 
Ii(!(;om[)(!nse for net^ded s((rvice." 

I'>ut tlu; raven failed his rnasUir. 



ETHICAL. 2-41 

Came a duck upon the waters, 
And the hero thus addressed him: 
"Bring, O water-bird, my tear-drops; 
Often thou dost dive the deep sea , 
Sink thy bill upon the bottom 
Of the waters thou dost travel ; 
Dive again my tears to gather, 
I will give thee beaut-eous feathers, 
Eecompense for golden service." 

Thereupon the duck departing, 
Hither, thither swam and circled. 
Dived beneath the foam and billow, 
Gathered Wainamoinen's tear-drops 
From the blue sea's pebbly bottom, 
From the deep, pellucid waters ; 
Brought them to the great magician, 
Beautifully formed and colored, 
Glistening in the silver sunshine, 
Glimmering in the golden moonlight ; 
^lany-colored as the rainbow, 
Fitting ornaments for heroes. 
Jewels for the maids of beauty ; 
This the origin of sea-pearls. 
And the sea-duck's beauteous plumage. 

J. M. CRAWFORD. 



WATER. 



Rev Paul Dextox, a Methodist missioDary, had an- 
nouDced to an audience in Texas that on a certain day 
there would be '*a rousing barbecue, the best of liquor, and 
of gospel." The barbecue came, but no liquor beiug oflered, 
the preacher was asked: "Where is the liquor you prom- 
ised us?" The missionary, seizing a goblet of water, made 
the following impromptu reply: ^^ Here is the liquor which 
God, the Eternal, brews for all his children ! ^ot in the 
simmering still, over smoking fires, choked with poisonous 
gases, and surrounded by the stench of sickening odors, and 
rank corruptions, doth your Father in heaven prepare the 

21 



242 ELOCUTION AND ORA TOR Y. 

precious essence of life — pure cold water; but in the green 
glade and grassy dell where the red-deer wanders, and the 
child loves to play — there God brews it; and down, down 
in the deepest valleys, where the fountains murmur and the 
rills sing ; and high up the tall mountain-tops, where the 
naked granite glitters like gold in the sun, where the storm- 
clouds brood, and the thunder-storms crash; and away far 
out on the wide, wide sea, where the hurricanes howl music, 
and the waves roar the chorus, sweeping on in the march 
of God — there he brews it, that beverage of life, health- 
giving water ! And everywhere it is a thing of beauty ; 
gleaming in the dew-drop; singing in the summer rain; 
shining in the ice-gem, till the trees seem turned into living 
jewels; spreading a golden veil over the setting sun, or a 
white gauze over the midnight moon ; sporting in the cata- 
ract, sleeping in the glacier, dancing in the hail-shower, 
folding its bright snow-curtains softly above the wintry world, 
and weaving the many-colored rainbow, that seraph's zone of 
the sky, whose warp is the rain-drop of earth, whose woof 
is the sunbeam of heaven, all checkered over with celestial 
flowers by the mystic hand of refraction — still always it is 
beautiful, that blessed cold water! No poison bubbles in its 
brink ! Its foam brings no madness nor murder ! No blood 
stains its limpid glass! Pale widows and starving orphans 
shed no burning tears in its clear depths ! No drunkard's 
shrieking ghost from the grave curses it in words of eternal 
despair! But everywhere, diffusing all around, life, vigor, 
and happiness, it is the purest emblem of the Water of Life, 
of which, if a man drink, he shall never thirst. Speak 
out, my friends; would you exchange it for the demon's 
drink — alcohol?" A shout, like the roar of a tempest, 
answered : ' ' No ! " 



HVMOBOm AND DELINEATIYE. 243 



HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 



A LITERARY NIGHTMARE. 

Will the reader please to cast his eye over the follow- 
ing verses, and see if he can discover any thing harmful 

in theiQ? 

" Conductor, when you receive a fare, 
Punch in the presence of the passenjare ! 
A blue trip-slip for an eight-cent fare, 
A buff trip-slip for a six-cent fare, 
A pink trip-slip for a three-cent fare, 
Punch in the presence of the passenjare ! 

CHORUS : 

- Punch, brothers, punch ! punch with care! 
Punch in the presence of the passenjare ! " 

I came across these jingling rhymes in a newspaper, a 
little while ago, and read them a CQuple of times. They 
took instant and entire possession of me. All through break- 
fast they went waltzing through my brain ; and when, at last, 
I rolled up my napkin, I could not tell whether I had eaten 
any thing or not. I had carefully laid out my day's work 
the day before — a thrilling tragedy in the novel which I am 
writing. I went to my den to begin my deed of blood. I 
took up my pen ; but all I could get it to say was, "Punch 
in the presence of the passenjare." I fought hard for an 
hour, but it was useless. My head kept humming, "A blue 
trip-slip for an eight-cent fare, a buff trip-slip for a six-cent 
fare," and so on and so on, without peace or respite. The 
day's work was ruined ; I could see that plainly enough. I 
gave up, and drifted down town, and presently discovered 
that my feet were keeping time to that relentless jingle. 
When I could stand it no longer I altered my step. But it 
did no good; those rhymes accommodated themselves to the 



244 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

new step, and went on harassing me just as before. I 
returned home, and suffered all the afternoon ; suffered all 
through an unconscious and unrefreshing dinner; suffered, 
and cried, and jingled all through the evening ; went to bed 
and rolled, tossed, and jingled right along, the same as ever; 
got up at midnight, frantic, and tried to read ; but there was 
nothing visible upon the whirling page except ** Punch! 
punch in the presence of the passenjare ! " By sunrise I was 
out of my mind, and every body marveled and was distressed 
at the idiotic burden of my ravings: "Punch! O, punch! 
punch in the presence of the passenjare ! " 

Two days later, on Saturday morning, I arose, a tottering 
wreck, and went forth to fulfill an engagement with a valued 

friend, the Rev. Mr, , to walk to the Talcott Tower, ten 

miles distant. He stared at me, but asked no questions. 

We started. Mr. talked, talked, talked, as is his wont. 

I said nothing; I heard nothing. At the end of a mile, 
Mr. said : 

''Mark, are you sick? I never saw a man look so hag- 
gard and worn and absent-minded. Say something; do!" 

Drearily, without enthusiasm, I said : "Punch, brothers! 
punch with care! Punch in the presence of the passenjare!" 

My friend eyed me blankly, looked perplexed, then said : 

"I do not think I get your drift, Mark. There does 
not seem to be any relevancy in what you have said — cer- 
tainly nothing sad; and yet — may be it was the way you 
said the words — I never heard any thing that sounded so 
pathetic. What is " 

But I heard no more. I was already far away with my 
pitiless, heart-breaking "blue trip-slip for an eight-cent fare, 
buff trip-slip for a six-cent fare, pink trip-slip for a three- 
cent fare ; punch in the presence of the passenjare." I do 
not know what occurred during the other nine miles. How- 
ever, all of a sudden, Mr. laid his hand on ray shoulder 

and shouted : 

" O, wake up! wake up! wake up! Don't sleep all 



HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 245 

day ! Here we are at the Tower, man ! I have txilked 
myself deaf, and dumb, and blind, and never got a re- 
sponse. Just look at this magnificent autumn landscape ! 
Look at it ! look at it ! Feast your eyes on it ! You iiave 
traveled; you have seen boasted landscapes elsewhere. 
Come, now, deliver an honest opinion. What do you say 
to this?" 

I sighed wearily, and murmured: 

"A buff trip-slip for a six-cent fare, a pink trip-slip for a 
three-cent fare, punch in the presence of the passenjare." 

Eev. Mr. stood there, very grave, full of concern 

apparently, and looked long at me ; then he said: 

"Mark, there is something about this that I can not 
understand. Those are about the same words you said 
before. There does not seem to be any thing in them, and 
vet they nearly break my heart when you say them. Punch 
in the — how is it they go?" 

I began at the beginning and repeated all the lines. My 
friend's face lighted with interest. He said : 

"Why, what a captivating jingle it is! It is almost 
music, it flows along so nicely. I have nearly caught 
the rhymes myself. Say them over just once more, and then 
I'll have them, sure." 

I said them over. Then Mr. said them. He mada 

one little mistake, which I corrected. The next time, and 
the next, he got them right. Now a great burden seemed 
to tumble from my shoulders. That torturing jingle departed 
out of my brain, and a grateful sense of rest and peace de- 
scended upon me. I was light-hearted enough to slug ; and 
I did sing for half an hour straight along, as we went jog- 
ging homeward. Then my freed tongue found blessed speech 
again, and the pent-up talk of many a weary hour began to 
gush and flow. It flowed on and on, joyously, jubilantly, 
until the fountain was empty and dry. As I wrung my 
friend's hand at parting, I said : 

"Haven't we had a royal o-ood time! But now I 



246 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY, 

remember, you liave n't said a word for two hours. Come, 
come, out with something ! " 

The Rev. Mr. turned a Uick-luster eye upon me, 

drew a deep sigh, and said, without animation, without 
apparent consciousness: 

"Punch, brothers! punch with care! Punch in the 
presence of the passenjare ! " 

A pang shot through me as I said to myself: '' Poor fel- 
low, poor fellow ! he has got it now." 

I did not see Mr. for two or three days after 

that. Then, on Tuesday evening, he staggered into my 
presence, and sank dejectedly into a seat. He was pale, 
worn ; he was a wreck. He lifted his faded eyes to my face 
and said : 

**Ah, Mark, it was a ruinous investment that I made in 
those heartless rhymes. They have ridden me like a night- 
mare, day and night, hour after hour, to this very moment. 
Since I saw you I have suffered the torments of the lost. 
Saturday evening I had a sudden call by telegraph, and took 
the night train for Boston. The occasion was the death of a 
valued old friend, who had requested that I should preach 
his funeral sermon. I took my seat in the cars and set 
myself to framing the discourse. But I never got beyond 
the opening paragraph ; for then the cars began their * clack- 
clack-clack ! clack-clack-clack ! ' and right away those odious 
rhymes fitted themselves to that accompaniment. For an 
hour I sat there, and set a syllable of those rhymes to every 
separate and distinct clack the car-wheels made. Why, I 
was as fagged out then as if I had been chopping wood all 
day. My skull was splitting with headache. It seemed to 
me that I must go mad if I sat there any longer ; so I 
undressed and went to bed. I stretched myself out in my 
berth, and — well, you know what the result was. The thing 
went right along, just tlie same. 'Clack-clack-clack, a blue 
trip-slip, clack-clack-clack, for an eight-cent fare ; clack- 
clack-clack, a buff trip-slip, clack-clack-clack, for a six-cent 



HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 247 

fare — aud so od, aud so od, and so on — 'punch in the presence 
of the passenjare!' Sleep? Not a single wink! I was 
almost a lunatic wh^n I got to Boston. Do n't ask me about 
the funeral. I did the best I could ; but every solemn indi- 
vidual sentence was meshed and tangled and woven in and 
out with 'Punch, brothers! punch with care! punch in the 
presence of the passenjare.' And the most distressing thing 
was tnat my delivery dropped into the undulating rhythm of 
those pulsing rhyines, and I could actually catch absent- 
minded people nodding time to the swing of it with their 
stupid heads. And, Mark, you may believe it or not, but 
before I got through, the entire assemblage were placidly 
bobbing their heads in solemn unison, mourners, undertaker, 
and all. The moment I had finished, I fled to the anteroom 
in a state bordering on frenzy. Of course it would be my 
luck to find a sorrowing and aged maiden aunt of the de- 
ceased there, who had arrived from Springfield too late to 
get into the church. She began to sob, and said: 

" ' O, O, he is gone, he is gone; and I didn't see him 
before he died ! ' 

" ' Yes ! ' I said, * he is gone, he is gone, he is gone — O, 
will this suffering never cease?' 

" ' You loved him then ! O, you, too, loved him ! ' 

' ' ' O — him I Yes — O yes, yes. Certainly — certainly. 
Punch — punch — O, this misery will kill me ! O, leave me, 
madam ! In the name of all that is generous, leave me to 
my madness, my misery, my despair! — a buff trip-slip for a 
six-cent fare, a pink trip-slip for a three-cent fare — punch 
in the presence of the '" 

Thus murmuring faint and fainter, my friend sank into 
a peaceful trance, and forgot his sufferings in a blessed 
respite. 

How did I finally save him from the asylum? I took 
him to a neigliboring university, and made him discharge 
the burden of his persecuting rhymes into the eager ears of 
the poor, unthinking students. How is it with them^ now? 



248 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

The result is too sad to tell. Why did I write this article? 
It was for a worthy, even a noble purpose. It was to warn 
you, reader, if you should come across those merciless rhymes, 
to avoid them — avoid them as you would a pestilence ! 

MARK TWAIN. 



ARTEMUS WARD'S MORMON LECTURE. 

ADAPTED. 

I don't expect to do great things here; but I have 
thought that if I could make money enough to buy me a 
passage to New Zealand I should feel that I had not lived 
in vain. 

I do n't want to live in vain. 1 'd rather live in Chicago, 
or here. But I wish when the Egyptians built this hall they 
had given it a little more ventilation. 

I really don't care for money. I only travel round to 
see the world and to exhibit my clothes. These clothes I 
have on were a great success in Utah. 

How often do large fortunes ruin young men ! I should 
like to be ruined, but I can get on very well as I am. 

I am not an artist, yet I have a passion for pictures. I 
have had a great many pictures, photographs, taken of my- 
self. Some of them are very pretty, rather sweet to look at 
for a short time ; and, as I said before, I like them. 

I could draw on wood at a very tender age. When a 
mere child I once drew a small cart-load of raw turnips 
over a wooden bridge. The people of the village noticed 
me. I drew their attention. They said I had a future be- 
fore me. Up to that time I had an idea it Avas behind me. 

Time passed on. It always does, by the way. You may 
possibly have noticed that time passes on. It is a kind of 
way time has. 

I became a man. I have n't distinguished myself at all 
as an artist, but I have always been more or less mixed up 



HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 249 

with art. I have an UDcle who takes photographs, and I 
have a servant who takes any thing he can get his hands on. 

When I was in Rome — Rome in New York State, I 
mean — a distinguished sculpist wanted to sculp me. But I 
said, "No." I saw through the designing man. 

Fond remembrance often makes me ask: "AVhere are 
the boys of my youth ? " I assure you this is not a conun- 
drum. Some are amongst you here, some in America, some 
are in jail. 

Hence arises a most touching question, " Where are the 
girls of my youth ? " Some are married — some would like to be. 

my Maria ! Alas ! she married another. They fre- 
quently do. I hope she is happy, because I am. Some 
people are not happy. I have noticed that. 

A gentleman friend of mine came to me one day with 
tears in his eyes. I said: "Why these weeps?" He said 
he had a mortgage on his farm, and wanted to borrow two 
hundred dollars. I lent him the money, and he Avent away. 
Some time after, he returned with more tears. He said he 
must leave me forever. I ventured to remind him of the 
two hundred dollars he borrowed. He was much cut up. 
I thought I would not be hard upon him, so told him I 
would throw off one hundred dollars. He brightened, shook 
my hand, and said: "Old friend, I won't allow you 
to outdo me in liberality; I'll throw off the other hundred." 

This story hasn't any thing to do with my lecture, I 
know ; but one of the principal features of my lecture is 
that it contains so many things that do n't have any thing 
to do with it. 

1 met a man in Oregon who had n't any teeth, not a 
tooth in his head; yet that man could play on the bass- 
drum better than any man I ever met. He kept a hotel. 
They have queer hotels in Oregon. I remember one where 
they gave me a bag of oats for a pillow. I had nightmares, 
of course. In the morning the landlord said: "How do 
you feel, old boss, hay?" I told him I felt my oats. 



250 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

I went to Great Salt Lake City by way of California. I 
went to California on the steamer Ariel. 

When I reached the Ariel, at pier No. 4, New York, I 
found the passengers in a state of great confusion about 
their things, which were being thrown around by the ship's 
porters in a manner at once damaging and idiotic. So great 
was the excitement, my fragile form was smashed this way, 
and jammed tliat way, till finally I was shoved into a state- 
room which was occupied by two middle-aged females, who 
said: "Baseman, leave us; O, leave us!" I left them; 
O, I left them ! 

I here introduce a great work of art. It is an oil paint- 
ing, done in petroleum. It is by the Old Masters. It was 
the last thing they did before dying. They did this, and 
then they expired. 

Some of the greatest artists in town come here every 
morning before daylight with lanterns to look at it. They 
say they never saw any thing like it before, and they hope 
they never shall again. 

When I first showed this picture in New York, the audi- 
ence were so enthusiastic in their admiration of it that they 
called for the artist ; and when he appeared, they threw brick- 
bats at him. 

The Overland Mail Coach is a den on wheels in which 
we were crammed for ten days and ten nights. Those of 
you who have been in the penitentiary, and stayed there 
any length of time, as visitors, can realize how I felt. 

The actors of the Mormon theater are all amateurs, who 
charge nothing for their services. 

You must know that very little money is taken at the 
doors of their theaters. The Mormons mostly pay in grain 
and all sorts of articles. 

The night I gave my little lecture there, among my re- 
ceipts were corn, flour, pork, cheese, chickens— on foot and 
in the shell. One family went in on a live pig. 

I dislike to speak about it, but it was in Utah that I 



HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 251 

made the great speech of my life. I wish you could have 
heard it. I have a fine education. Perhaps you may have 
noticed it. I speak four different languages : Maine, New 
York, California, and Pennsylvania. My parents sold a 
cow, and sent me to college when I was quite young. I 
wish you could have heard that speech, however. If Cicero — 
he 's dead now ; he has gone from us — but if old Ciss could 
have heard that effort, it would have given him the rinder- 
pest. I'll tell you how it was. There were stationed in 
Utah two regiments of United States troops, the 21st from 
California, and the 37th from Nevada. The 21-sters asked 
me to present a stand of colors to the 37-sters, and I did it 
in a speech so abounding in eloquence that they came near 
shooting me on the spot. 

Brigham Young had two hundred Avives. Just think of 
that! Oblige me, ladies and gentlemen, by thinking of 
that. That is, he had eighty actual wives, and was spiritu- 
ally married to one hundred and twenty more. 

So we may say he had two hundred wives. He loved 
not wisely, but two hundred well. He was dreadfully 
married. He was the most married man I ever saw in 
my life. 

I saw his mother-in-law while I was there. I can't ex- 
actly tell you how many there is of her, but it's a good deal. 
It strikes me that one mother-in-law is about enough to 
have in a family, unless you 're very fond of excitement. 

By the way, Shakespeare indorses polygamy. He speaks 
of the Merry Wives of Windsor. How many wives did 
Mr. Windsor have? 

Brother Kimball is a gay and festive cuss of some sev- 
enty summers, or some 'ers thereabout. He has one thou- 
sand head of cattle and a hundred head of wives. 

Mr. Kimball had a son, a lovely young man, who was 
married to ten interesting wives. But one day, while he 
was absent from home, these ten wives went out walking 
with a handsome young man, which so enraged Mr. Kim- 



252 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

ball's son — \vhich made Mr. KimbaH's son so jealous — that 
he shot himself with a horse-pistol. 

The doctor who attended him, a very scientifie man, in- 
formed me that the bullet entered the inner parallelogram 
of his diaphragmatic thorax, superinducing membranous 
hemorrhage in the outer cuticle of his basiliconthamaturgist. 
It killed him, I should have thought it w^ould. 

I hope his sad end will be a warning to all youug wives 
who go out walking with handsome young men. 

Mr. Kimball's son is now no more. He sleeps beneath 
the Cyprus, the myrtle, and willow. He died by request. 

I regret to say that efforts were made to make a Mormon 
of me while I was in Utah. It was leap-year when I was 
there, and seventeen young widows, the wives of a deceased 
Mormon, offered me their hearts and hands. I called on 
them one day, and taking their soft white hands in mine, 
which made eighteen hands altogether, I found them in tears. 

And I said: ''Why is this thus! What is the reason of 
this thusness?" 

They hove a sigh — seventeen sighs of different size. 
They said : " O, soon thou wilt be gonested away!" 

I told them that when I got ready to leave a place I 
wentested. 

They said : ' ' Doth not like us ? " 

I said: "I doth, I doth ! " 

I also said: "I hope your intentions are honorable, as 
I am a lone child, my parents being far, far away." 

They then said : '' Wilt not marry us?" 

I said : *' O no ; it can not was." 

Again they asked me to marry them, and again I de- 
clined, when they cried: " O, cruel man I This is too 
much ! O, too much ! " 

I told them that it was on account of the muchness that 
I declined. 

I Avas told in my youth to seize opportunity. I once 
tried to seize one. He was rich. He had diamonds on. 



H UMOE US AND DELINEA TI VE. 253 

As I seized him, he knocked me down. Since then I have 
learned that he who seizes opportunity sees the penitentiary. 
I will seize this opportunity to close my lecture. 

ARTEMUS WARD. 



PLATONIC LOVE. 

I HAD sworn to be a bachelor; she had sworn to be a maid ; 
For we quite agreed in doubting whether matrimony paid; 
Besides we had our higher loves: fair science ruled my heart, 
And she said her young affections were all wound up in art. 

So we laughed at those wise men, who say that friendship can 

not live 
'Twixt man and woman, unless each has something more to give ; 
We would be friends, and friends as true as e'er were man and man ; 
I'd be a second David, and she Miss Jonathan. 

AVe scorned all sentimental trash — vows, kisses, tears, and sighs; 
High friendship, such as ours, might Avell such childish arts despise ; 
We liked each other — that was all, quite all there was to say; 
So we just shook hands upon it, in a business sort of way. 

We shared our secrets and our joys, together hoped and feared ; 
With common purpose sought the goal that young Ambition reared ; 
We dreamed together of the days, the dream-bright days to come; 
We were strictly confidential, and we called each other "chum." 

And many a daj'^ we wandered together o'er the hills ; 
I seeking bugs and butterflies, and she the ruined mills 
And rustic bridges, and the like, that picture-makers prize 
To run in with their waterfalls, and groves, and summer skies. 

And many a quiet evening, in hours of silent ease. 

We floated down the river, or strolled beneath the trees; 

And talked in long gradation, from the poets to the weather, 

AVhile the western skies and my cigar burned slowly out together. 

Yet through it all no whispered v/Ord, no tell-tale glance or sigh, 
Told aught of warmer sentiment than friendly sympathy ; 
We talked of love as coolly as Ave talked of Nebulae, 
And thought no more of being one than we did of being three. 



254 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

"Well, good-bye, chum ! " I took her hand, for the time had come 

to go; 
My going meant our parting — when to meet we did not know. 
I had lingered long, and said farewell with a very heavy heart; 
For although we were but friends, 'tis hard for honest friends to 

part. 

"Good-bye, old fellow! do n't forget your friends beyond the sea. 
And some day, when you 've lots of time, drop a line or two to me." 
The words came lightly, gayly ; but a great sob, just behind, 
Welled upward with a story of quite a different kind. 

And then she raised her eyes to mine — great liquid eyes of blue, 
Filled to the brim and running o'er, like violet cups of dew; 
One long, long glance, and then I did, what I never did before ; 
Perhaps the tears meant friendship, but I'm sure the kiss meant 
more. william b. terrett. 



THE MULE AND THE BEES. 

I WAS visiting a gentleman who lived in the vicinity of 
Los Angeles. The morning was beautiful. The plash of 
little cascades about the grounds, the buzz of bees, and the 
gentle moving of the foliage of the pepper-trees in the 
scarcely perceptible ocean-breeze, made up a picture which 
I thought was complete. It was not. A mule wandered 
on the scene. The scene, I thought, could have got along 
without him. He took a different view. 

Of course mules w^ere not allowed on the grounds. That 
is what he knew. That was his reason for being there. 

I recognized him. Had met him. His lower lip hung 
down. He looked disgusted. It seemed he did n't like being 
a mule. 

A day or two before, while I was trying to pick up a 
little child who had got too near this mule's heels, he kicked 
me two or three times before I could tell from which way I 
was hit. I might have avoided some of the kicking, but in 
my confusion I began to kick at the mule. I did n't kick 
with him long. He outnumbered me. 



HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 255 

He browsed along on the choice shrubbery. I forgot the 
beauty of the morning. Remembered A black-and-blue spot 
on my leg. It looked like the print of a mule's hoof. 
There was another on my right hip. Where my suspenders 
crossed were two more, as I have been informed. They 
were side by side — twin blue spots — and seemed to be about 
the same age. 

I thought of revenge. I did n't w^ant to kick with him 
any more. No. But thought, if I had hiii> tied down good 
and fast, so he could not move his heels, how like sweet in- 
cense it would be to first saw his ears and tail smooth off, 
then put out his eyes with a red-hot poker, then skin him 
alive, then run him through a threshing-machine. 

While I was thus thinking, and getting madder and mad- 
der, the mule, which had wandered up close to a large bee- 
hive, got stung. His eyes lighted up, as if that was just 
what he w-as looking for. He turned on the bee-hive and 
took aim. He fired. In ten seconds the only piece of bee- 
hive I could see was about the size a man feels when he has 
told a joke that falls on the company like a piece of sad news. 
This piece Avas in the air. It was being kicked at. 

The bees swarmed. They swarmed a good deal. They 
lit on that mule earnestly. After he had kicked the last bit 
of bee-hive so high that he could not reach it any more, 
he stopped for an instant. He seemed trying to ascertain 
whether the ten thousand bees which were stinging him 
meant it. They did. 

The mule turned loose. I never saw any thing to equal it. 
He was enveloped in a dense fog of earnestness and bees, and 
filled with enthusiasm and stings. The more he kicked, the 
higher he arose from the ground. I may have been mistaken, 
for I was somewhat excited and very much delighted, but that 
mule seemed to rise as high as the tops of the pepper-trees. 
The pepper-trees were twenty feet high. He would open and 
shut himself like a frog swimming. Sometimes, when he was 
in mid-air, he would look like he was flyiiig, and I would 



256 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

think for a moment he was about to become an angel. Only 
for a moment. There are probably no mule angels. 

When he had got up to the tops of the pepper-trees I was 
called to breakfast. I told them I didn't want any breakfast. 

The mule continued to be busy. 

When a mule kicks himself clear of the earth, his heels 
seldom reach higher than his back ; that is, a mule's fore- 
legs can reach forward and his hind-legs backward until the 
mule becomes straightened out into a line of mule parallel 
with the earth and fifteen or twenty feet therefrom. This 
mule's hind-legs, however, were not only raised into a line 
w'ith his back, but they would come over until the bottom of 
the hoofs almost touched his ears. 

The mule proceeded as if he desired to hurry through. 

I had no idea how many bees a hive would hold until I 
saw that bee-hive emptied on that mule. They covered him 
so completely that I could not see any of him but the glare 
of his eyes. I could see from the expression of his eyes that 
he did n't like the way things were going. 

The mule still went on in an absorbed kind of a way. 

Not only was every bee of the disturbed hive on duty, but 
I think the news had been conveyed to neighboring hives 
that war had been declared. I could see bees flitting to and 
fro. The mule was covered so deep with bees that he looked 
like an exaggerated mule. The hum of the bees and their 
moving on each other combined in a seething hiss. 

A sw^eet calm and a gentle peacefulness pervaded me. 

AVhen he had kicked for an hour he began to fall short of 
the tops of the pepper-trees. He was settling down closer 
to the earth. Numbers were telling on him. He looked 
distressed. He had always been used to kicking against 
something, but found now he was striking the air. It was 
very exhausting. 

He finally got so he did not rise clear of the ground, but 
continued to kick with both feet for half an hour; next with 
first one foot and then the other for another half an hour; 



HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 257 

then with his right foot only every few minutes, the inter- 
vals growing longer and longer, until he finally was still. 
His head drooped ; his lip hung lower and lower. The bees 
stung on. He looked as if he thought that a mean, sneak- 
ing advantage had been taken of him. 

I retired from the scene. Early next morning I returned. 
The sun came slowly up from behind the eastern hills. The 
light foliage of the pepper-trees trembled with his morning 
caress. His golden kiss fell upon the opening roses. A bee 
could be seen flying hither; another thither. The mule lay 
near the scene of yesterday's struggle. Peace had come to 
him. He was dead. Too much kicking against nothing. 

LOCK MELONE. 



THE NEW BABY. 

There came to port last Sunday night 

The queerest little craft, 
Without an inch of rigging on ; 

I looked, and looked, and laughed. 

It seemed so curious that she 

Should cross the unknown water. 

And moor herself right in my room, 
My daughter, O my daughter! 

She has no manifest but this; 

No flag floats o'er the water ; 
She 's too new for the British Lloyds — 

My daughter, O my daughter! 

Ring out, wild bells, and tame ones, too! 

Ring out the lover's moon ! 
Ring in the little worsted socks ! 

Ring in the bib and spoon ! 

Ring out the muse! Ring in the nurse! 

Ring in the milk and water! 
Away with paper, pen, and ink — 

My daughter, O my daughter ! 

22 GEORGE W. CARLE 



258 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 



THE OLD READING-CLASS. 

I CAN NOT tell you, Genevieve, how it comes to me — 
That rather young old reading-class in District Number Three; 
That row of elocutionists who stood so straight in line, 
And charged at standard literature with amiable design. 
We did not spare the energy in which our words were clad; 
We gave the meaning of the text by all the light we had; 
But still I fear the ones who wrote the lines we read so free 
Would scarce have recognized their work in District Number 
Three. 

Outside the snow was smooth and clean— the winter's thick-laid 

dust; 
The storm it made tlie windows speak at every sudden gust; 
Bright sleigh-bells threw us pleasant words when travelers would 

pass ; 
The maple-trees along the road stood shivering in their class; 
Beyond, the white-browed cottages were nestling cold and dumb. 
And far away the mighty world seemed beckoning us to come — 
The wondrous world, of which we conned what had been and 

might be, 
In that old-fashioned reading-class of District Number Three. 

We took a hand nt History — its altars, spires, and flames — 
And uniformly mispronounced the most important names; 
We wandered through Biography, and gave our fancy play, 
And with some subjects fell in love — "good only for one day;" 
In Romance and Philosophy we settled many a point. 
And made what poems we assailed to creak at every joint; 
And many authors that we love, you will with me agree. 
Were first time intioduced to us in District Number Three. 

You recollect Susannah Smith, the teacher's sore distress, 
Who never stopped at any pause— a sort of day express? 
And timid young Sylvester Jones, of inconsistent sight. 
Who stumbled on the easy Avords, and read the hard ones 

right? 
And Jennie Green, whose doleful voice was always clothed in 

black? 
And Samuel Hicks, whose tones induced the plastering all to 

crack ? 



HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 259 

And Andrew Tabbs, whose various mouths were quite a show 

to see? 
Ahis ! we can not find them now in District Number Tliree. 

And Jasper Jenclces, whose tears would flow at each patlietic 

word. 
(He's in the prize-fight business now, and hits them hard, I've 

heard) ; 
And Benny Bayne, whose every tone lie murmured as in fear 
(His tongue is not so timid now : he is an auctioneer) ; 
And Lanty Wood, whose voice was just endeavoring hard to 

change, 
And leaped from hoarse to fiercely shrill with most surprising 

range ; 
Also his sister Mary Jane, so full of prudish glee. 
Alas! they 're both in higher schools than District Number Three. 

So back the various voices come, though long the years have 

grown, 
And sound, uncommonly distinct through memory's telephone; 
And some are full of melody, and bring a sense of cheer, 
And some can smite the rock of time, and summon forth a tear ; 
But one sweet voice comes back to me, whenever sad I grieve, 
And sings a song, and that is yours, peerless Genevieve ! 
It brightens up the olden times, and throws a smile at me — 
A silver star amid tlie clouds of District Number Three. 

WILL cahleton. 



A NEW CURE FOR RHEUMATISM. 

One day, not a great while ago, Mr. Middlerib read a 
paragraph copied from a German paper, which is an ac- 
cepted authority on such points, stating that the sting of a 
bee was a sure cure for rheumatism, and citing several re- 
markable instances in which people had been perfectly cured 
by this abrupt remedy. 

He read the article several times, and pondered over it. 
He understood that the stinging must be done scientifically 
and thoroughly. The bee, as he understood the article, was 
to be gripped by the ears and set down upon the rheumatic 



260 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

joint, and held there until it stung itself stingless. He had 
some misgivings about the matter. He knew it would hurt. 
He hardly thought it could hurt any worse than the rheu- 
matism, and it had been so many years since he had been 
stung by a bee that he had almost forgotten what it felt 
like. He had, however, a general feeling that it would 
hurt some. But desperate diseases required desperate reme- 
dies, and Mr. Middlerib was willing to undergo any amount 
of suffering if it would cure his rheumatism. 

He contracted with Master Middlerib for a limited sup- 
ply of bees. There were bees and bees, humming and buz- 
zing about in the summer air, but Mr. Middlerib did not 
know how to get them. He felt, however, that he could 
safely depend upon the instincts and methods of boyhood. 
He knew that if there was any way in heaven or earth 
whereby the shyest bee that ever lifted a two hundred- 
pound man off the clover, could be induced to enter a wide- 
mouthed glass bottle, his son knew that way. 

For the small sum of one dime Master Middlerib agreed 
to procure several ; to wit, six bees, age not specified ; but 
as Mr. Middlerib was left in uncertainty as to the race, it 
was made obligatory upon the contractor to have three of 
them honey, and three humble, or, in the generally accepted 
vernacular, bumble bees. Mr. Middlerib did \^f^t tell his son 
what he Avanted those bees for, and the boy went off on his 
mission with his head so full of astonishment that it fairly 
whirled. Evening brings all home, and the last rays of the 
declining sun fell upon Master Middlerib with a short, wide- 
mouthed bottle comfortably populated with hot, ill-natured 
bees, and Mr. Middlerib, and a dime. The dime and the 
bottle changed hands. Mr. Middlerib put the bottle in his 
coat pocket, and went into the house, eying every body lie 
met very suspiciously, as though he had made up his mind 
to sting to death the first person that said "bee" to him. 
He confided his guilty secret to none of his family. He hid 
his bees in his bedroom, and as he looked at them just 



HUMOROUS AND DELINK A TIVE. 261 

before puttiag them away, he half wished the experiment was 
safely over. He wished the imprisoned bees did n't look so 
hot and cross. With exquisite care he submerged the bottle 
in a basin of water, and let a few drops in on the heated in- 
mates, to cool them off. 

At the tea-table he had a great fright. Miss Middlerib, 
in the artless simplicity of her I'omantic nature, said : 

" I smell bees. How the odor brings up that article " 

But her father glared at her, and said, with superfluous 
harshness : 

" Hush up ! You do n't smell bees." 

Whereupon Mrs. Middlerib asked him if he had eaten 
any thing that disagreed with him, and Miss Middlerib said: 
** Why, pa ! " and Master Middlerib smiled and said nothing. 

Bed-time came at last, and the night was warm and sul- 
try. Under various false pretenses, Mr. Middlerib strolled 
about the house until every body else was in bed, and then 
he sought his room. He turned the night-lamp down until 
its feeble rays shone dimly as a death-light. 

Mr. Middlerib disrobed slowly — very slowly. When at 
last he was ready to go lumbering into his peaceful couch, 
he heaved a profound sigh, so full ©f apprehension and grief 
that Mrs. Middlerib, who was awakened by it, said if it gave 
him so much pain to come to bed, perhaps he had better sit 
up all night. Mr. Middlerib checked another sigh, but said 
nothing, and crept into bed. After lying still a few moments, 
he reached out and got his bottle of bees. 

It w^as not an easy thing to do, to pick one bee out of a 
bottle full, with his fingers, and not get into trouble. The 
first bee Mr. Middlerib got was a little brown honey-bee that 
w^ould n't weigh half an ounce if you picked him up by the 
ears, but if you lifted him by the leg, as Mr. Middlerib did, 
would weigh considerable. Mr. Middlerib could not repress 
a groan. 

''What's the matter with you?" sleepily asked his wife. 

It was very hard for Mr. Middlerib to say; he only 



262 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

knew his temperature had risen to one hundred and ninety- 
seven on the end of his thumb. He reversed tlie bee and 
pressed the warlike terminus of it firmly against his rheu- 
matic knee. 

It did n't hurt so badly as he thought it would. 

It did n't hurt at all ! 

Then Mr. Middlerib remembered that when the honey- 
bee stabs a human foe, it generally leaves its harpoon in the 
wound, and the invalid knew then the only thing the bee 
had to sting with was doing its work at the end of his thumb. 

He reached his arm out from under the sheet, and dropped 
his disabled atom of rheumatism liniment on the carpet. 
Then, after a second of blank wonder, he began to feel 
around for the bottle, and wished he knew what he had done 
with it. 

In the meantime strange things had been going on. 
When he caught hold of the first bee, Mr. Middlerib, for rea- 
sons, drew it out in such haste that for the time he forgot all 
about the bottle and its remedial contents, and left it lying 
uncorked in the bed. In the darkness there had been a 
quiet but general emigration from that bottle. The bees, 
their wings clogged with the water JMr. ^liddlerib had poured 
upon them to cool and tranquilize them, were crawling aim- 
lessly about over the sheet. While Mr. Middlerib was feel- 
ing around for it, his ears were suddenly thrilled and his 
heart frozen by a wild, piercing scream from his wife. 

Mr. Middlerib sat bolt upright in bed. His hair stood 
on end. The night was very warm, but he turned to ice in 
a minute. 

" Where, O, where," he said, with pallid lips, as he felt 
all over the bed in frenzied haste, " where in the world are 
them confounded bees?" 

And a large "bumble," with a sting as pitiless as the 
finger of scorn, just then alighted between Mr. Middlerib's 
shoulders, and went for his marrow, and said calmly: *' Here 
is one of them." 



HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 263 

And Mrs. Middlerib felt ashamed of her feeble screams 
when Mr. Middlerib threw up both arms, and with a howl 
that made the windows rattle, roared : 

"Take him off! O, land of Scott! somebody take 
him off! " 

And Avhen a little honey-bee began tickling the sole of 
Mrs. Middlerib's foot, she shrieked that the house was be- 
witched, and immediately went into spasms. 

The household was aroused by this time. Miss Middle- 
rib, and Master Middlerib, and the servants, were pouring 
into the room, adding to the general confusion, by howling 
at random and asking irrelevant questions, while they gazed 
at the figure of a man, a little on in years, pawing fiercely 
at the unattainable spot in the middle of his backj while he 
danced an unnatural, wicked-looking jig by the dim light 
of the night-lamp. And while he danced and howled, and 
while they gazed and shouted, a navy-blue wasp, that Master 
Middlerib had put in the bottle for good measure and va- 
riety, and to keep the menagerie stirred up, had dried his 
legs and wings with a corner of the sheet, and after a pre- 
liminary circle or two around the bed, to get up his motion 
and settle down to a working gait, fired himself across the 
room ; and to his dying day, Mr. Middlerib will always be- 
lieve that one of the servants mistook him for a burglar and 
shot him. No one, not even Mr. Middlerib himself, could doubt 
that he was, at least for the time, most thoroughly cured of 
rheumatism. His own boy could not have carried himself 
more lightly or with greater agility. But the cure was not 
permanent, and Mr. Middlerib does not like to talk about it. 

R. J. BURDETTE. 



THE BORK. 



Again I hear the creaking step ! 

He 's rapping at the door ! 
Too well I know the boding sound 

That ushers in a bore. 



264 ELOCUTION AND ORA TOR Y. 

I do not tremble when I meet 
The stoutest of my foes ; 

But Heaven defend me from the friend 
Who comes, but never goes. 

He drops into my easy-chair, 

And asks about the news; 
He peers into my manuscript, 

And gives his candid views. 
He tells me where he likes the line. 

And where he 's forced to grieve; 
He takes the strangest liberties, 

But never takes — his leave. 

He reads my daily papers through 

Before I 've seen a word ; 
He scans the lyric that I wrote 

And thinks it quite absurd. 
He calmly smokes my best cigar. 

And coolly asks for more ; 
He opens every thing he sees. 

Except — the entry door. 

He talks about his fragile health, 

And tells me of his pains; 
He suffers from a score of ills 

Of which he ne'er complains ; 
And how he struggled once with death 

To keep the fiend at bay. 
On themes like those away he goes. 

But never goes — away ! 

He tells me of the captious words, 

Some shallow critic wrote, 
And every precious paragraph 

Familiarly can quote. 
He thinks the writer did me wrong, 

He 'd like to run him through ! 
He says a thousand pleasant things, 

But never says — adieu. 

Whene'er he comes, that dreadful man, 

Dis2uise it as I may, 
I know that like an autumn rain, 

He '11 last throughout the day. 



HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 265 

In vain I speak of urgent tasks, 

In vain I scowl and pout ; 
A frown is no extinguisher, 

It does not — put him out. 

I mean to take the knocker off, 

Put crape upon the door, 
Or hint to John that I am gone 

To stay a month or more. 
I do not tremble when I meet 

The stoutest of my foes ; 
But Heaven defend me from the friend 

Who never, never goes! j. g. saxe. 



RIDING ON THE RAIL. 

Singing through the forests, rattling over ridges. 
Shooting under arches, rumbling over bridges, 
Whizzing through the mountains, buzzing o'er the vale,- 
Bless me ! this is pleasant, riding on the rail ! 

Men of different stations in the eye of Fame, 
Here are very quickly coming to the same ; 
High and lowly people, birds of every feather, 
On a common level, traveling together ! 

Gentlemen in shorts, blooming very tall ; 
Gentlemen at large, talking very small ; 
Gentlemen in tights, with a loosish mien ; 
Gentlemen in gray, looking very green ! 

Gentlemen quite old, asking for the news ; 
Gentlemen in black, with a fit of blues ; 
Gentlemen in claret, sober as a vicar ; 
Gentlemen in tweed, dreadfully in liquor ! 

Stranger on the right looking very sunny. 
Obviously reading something very funny. 
Now the smiles are thicker — wonder what they mean? 
Faith, he 's got the Knickerbocker Magazine ! 

Stranger on the left, closing up his peepers ; 
Now he snores amain, like the Seven Sleepers; 
At his feet a volume gives the explanation, 
How the man grew stupid from ** association ! " 
23 



266 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

Ancient maiden lady anxiously remarks 
That tliore must be peril •'mong so many sparks; 
Roguish-looking fellow, turning to the stranger, 
Says 'tis his opinion she is out of danger! 

Woman with her baby, sitting vis a vis ; 
Baby keeps a-squalling, woman looks at me; 
Asks about the distance — says 'tis tiresome talking, 
Noises of the cars are so very shocking ! 

Market woman, careful of the precious casket, 
Knowing eggs are eggs, tightly holds her basket ; 
Feeling that a smash, if it came, would surely 
Send her eggs to pot rather prematurely. 

Singing through the forests, rattling over ridges. 
Shooting under arches, rumbling over bridges, 
Whizzing through the mountains, buzzing o'er the vale,- 
Bless me! this is pleasant, riding on the rail! 

JOHN G. SAXE. 



SONGS OF THE NIGHT. 

It was the Cedar Rapids sleeper. Outside it was as dark 
as the inside of an ink-bottle. In the sleeping-car people 
slept. Or tried it. 

Some of them slept like Christian men and women, 
peacefully, sweetly, and quietly. 

Others slept like demons, malignantly, hideously, fiend- 
ishly, as though it was their mission to keep every body else 
awake. 

Of these the man in lower number three was the worst. 

We never heard any thing snore like him. It was the 
most systematic 'Coring that was ever done, even on one of 
these tournaments of snoring, a sleeping-car. He did n't 
begin as soon as the lamps were turned down and every 
body was in bed. O no! There was more cold-blooded 
diabolism in his system than that. He waited until every 
body had had a taste of sleep, just to see how nice and 
pleasant it was; and then he broke in on their slumbers 



HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 267 

like a winged, breathing demon, and they never knew what 
peace was again that night. 

He started out with a terrific "G-r-r-rt!" that opened 
every eye in the car. We all hoped it was an accident, 
however; and trusting that he wouldn't do it again, we all 
forgave him. Then he blasted our hopes and curdled the 
sweet serenity of our forgiveness by a long-drawn " Gw-a- 
h-h-hah ! " that sounded too much like business to be ac- 
cidental. Then every head in that sleepless sleeper was 
held off the pillow for a minute, waiting in breathless sus- 
pense to hear the worst; and the sleeper in ''lower three" 
went on in long-drawn, regular cadences, that indicated 
good staying qualities, " Gwa-a-a-h ! Gwa-a-a-a-h! Gah way- 
way! Gahwaywah ! Gahwa-a-ah ! " 

Evidently it was going to last all night ; and the weary 
heads dropped back on the sleepless pillows, and the swear- 
ing began. It mumbled along in low, muttering tones, like 
the distant echoes of a profane thunder-storm. Pretty soon 
"lower three" gave us a little variation. He shot off a 
spiteful "Gwook! " which sounded as though his nose had 
got angry at him, and was going to strike. Then there was 
a pause, and we began to hope he had either awakened from 
sleep or strangled to death; nobody cared very particularly 
which. But he disappointed every body with a guttural 
*'Gurchoch!" 

Then he paused again for breath, and when he had ac- 
cumulated enough for his purpose he resumed business with 
a stentorious " Kowpf ! " 

He ran through all the ranges of the nasal gamut ; he 
went up and down a very chromatic scale of snores ; he ran 
through intricate and fearful variations, until it seemed that 
his nose must be out of joint in a thousand places. All 
the night, and all night through, he told his story. 

''Gawoh! gurrah! g-r-r-r ! Kowpff! Gaw-aw-wah ! gaw- 
ahhah ! gwock ! gwarrt ! gwah-h-h-11-whoof ! " 

Just as the other passengers had consulted together how 



268 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

they might slay him, morning dawned, and "lower number 
three" awoke. Every body watched the curtain to see what 
manner of man it was that had made that beautiful sleep- 
ing-car a pandemonium. Presently the toilet was com- 
pleted, the curtains parted, and "lower number three" 
stood revealed. 

Great guns ! It was a fair young girl with golden hair, 
and timid, pleading eyes, like a hunted fawn's. 

BURLINGTON HAWKEYE. 



SAM'S LETTER. 



I WONDER who w-wote me this letter. I thuppose the b-best 
"Way to f-find out ith to open it and thee. (Opens letter.) 
Thome lun-lunatic hath w-witten me this letter. He h ath 
w-witten it upthide down. I wonder if he th-thought I 
wath going to w-wead it sthanding on my head. 0, yeth, 
I thee ; I had it t-t-turned upthide down. " Amewica." 
Who do I know in Amewica? I am glad he hath g-given 
me hith addwess anyhow. O, yeth, I thee, it ith from 
Tham. I alwaths know Tham's handwiting when I thee hith 
name at the b-bottom of it. "My dear bwother — " Tham 
alwayths called me bwother. I-I thuppose iths because hith 
m-mother and my mother wath the thame woman, and we 
never had any thisters. When we were boyths we were 
ladths together. They used to ge-get off a pwoverb when 
they thaw uth com-coming down the stweet. It ith vewy 
good, if I could only think of it. I can never wecollect 
any thing that I can 't we-wemember. Iths — it iths the early 
bir-bird — iths the early bir-bird that knowths iths own 
fjither. What non-nonthense that iths! How co-could a 
bir-bird know iths own father? Iths a withe — iths a withe 
child — iths a withe child that geths the wom. T-that's not 
wite. What non-nonthense that iths! No pa-pawent would 
allow hiths child to ga-gather woms. Iths a wyme. Iths 
fish of-of a feather. Fish of a fea — What non-nonthense ! 



HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 269 

for fish do n't have feathers. Iths a bir-bird — iths b-birds of 
a feather — b-birds of a feather flock together. B-birds of a 
feather! Just as if a who-who-whole flock of b-birds had 
only one f- feather. They'd all catch cold, and only one 
b-bird c-could have that f-feather, and he'd fly sidewithse. 
What con-confounded nonthense that iths ! Flock to-to- 
gether ! Of courthse th-they'd flock together. Who ever 
her-heard of a bird being such a f-fool as to g-go into a 
c-corner and flo-flock by himself? *'I wo-wote you a letter 
thome time ago — " Thath 's a lie ; he d-did n't wi-wite me 
a letter. If he had witten me a letter he would have posted 
it, and I would have g-got it ; so, of courthse, he did n't post 
it, and then he did n't wite it. Thath 's easy. O, yeths, I 
thee : ' ' but I dwopped it into the poth-potht-office forgetting 
to diwect it." I wonder who the d-dic-dickens got that letter. 
I wonder if the poth-pothman iths gwoin' awound inquiring 
for a f-fellow without a name. I wonder if there iths any 
fel-fellow without any name. If there iths any fel-fellow 
•without any name, how doeths he know who he iths him- 
thelf? I-I wonder if thuch a fellow could get mawaid. How 
could he ask hiths wife to take hiths name if he h-had no 
name ? Thath's one of thothse things no fellow can f-find 
out. **Ihave just made a startling dithcovery." Tham's 
alwayths d-doing thomthiug. " I have dithcovered that my 
mother iths — that m-my mother iths not my m-mother ; 
that a — the old nurse is my m-mother, and that you are not 
my b-bwother, and a — tha-that I was changed at my birth." 
How c-can a fellow be changed at hith b-birth ? If he iths 
not himthelf, who iths he ? If Tham's m-mother is not hith 
m-mother, and the nurthse iths hith mother, and Tham 
ith 7j't my bwother, w^ho ami? That's one of thothse 
things that no fel-fellow can find out. *'I have p-purchased 
an ethstate som-^vhere — " Doth n't the id-idiot know 
wh-where h-he has bouth it? O, yeths : *' on the bankths of 
the M-M-Mithithippi." Wh-who iths M-Mithithippi ? I 
g-gueth ith's Tham's m-mother-in-1-law. Tham's got mawaid. 



270 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

He th-thayths he felt v-vewy ner-nervous. He alwaytlis 
waths a lucky fellow getting th-thiiigs he did n't want, and 
had n't any use for. Thpeaking of niother-in-lawths, I had 
a fwiend who had a mother-in-law, and he did n't like 
her pwetty well ; and she f-felt the thame way towards 
him ; and they went away on a st-steamer acwoth the 
ocean, and they got wecked, catht away on a waft, and they 
floated awouud with their feet iu the water and other amuthe- 
ments, living on thuch things ath they could pick up — 
thardinths, ithcweam, owanges, and other c-canned goodths 
that were floating awound. When that waths all gone, 
every body ate every body else. F-finally only himthelf 
and hiths m-mother-in-law waths left, and they pl-played a 
game of c-cards to thee who thould be eaten up, himthelf 
or hith mother-in-law. A-a — the mother-in-law lotht. H-he 
treated her handthomelv, only he strapped h-her flat on iier 
back, and c-carved her gently. H-h-he thays that waths 
the f-first time that he ever weally enjoyed a m-mother-in-law. 



THE OWL CRITIC. 

" Who stuffed that white owl ! " No one spoke in the shop. 
The barber was busy,-and he could n't stop ; 
The customers, waiting their turn, were all reading 
The Daily, the Herald, the Post, little heeding 
The young man who blurted out such a blunt question. 
Not one raised a head, or even made a suggestion ; 
And the barber kept on shaving. 

*' Don't you see, Mister Brown," cried the youth with a frown, 

"How wrong the whole thing is, how preposterous each wing is. 

How flattened the head is, how jammed down the neck is; 

In short, the whole owl, what an ignorant wreck 'tis! 

I make no apology ; I 've learned owl-eology. 

I 've passed days and nights in a hundred collections. 

And can not be blinded to any deflections 

Arising from unskillful fingers that fail 

To stuff a bird right, from his beak to his tail. 



HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 271 

Mr. Brown ! Mr. Brown ! Do take that bird down, 
Or you '11 soon be the laughing-stock all over town ! " 
And the barber kept on shaving. 

" I 've studied owls and other night fowls, 
And I '11 tell you what I know to be true : 
An owl can not roost with his limbs so unloosed. 
No owl in the world ever had his claws curled, 
Ever had his legs slanted, ever had his bill canted, 
Ever had his neck screwed into that attitude — 
Can 't do it, because 't is against all bird laws. 
Anatomy teaches, ornithology preaches, 
An owl has a toe that can't turn out so ! 
I've made the white owl my study for years, 
And to see such a job almost moves me to tears ! 
Mister Brown, I 'm amazed you should be so gone crazed 
As to put up a bird in that posture absurd ! 
To look at that owl really brings on a dizziness; 
The man who stuffed him don't half know his business! " 
And the barber kept on shaving. 

" Examine those eyes ; I 'm filled with surprise 
Taxidermists should pass ofl" on you such poor glass ; 
So unnatural they seem, they 'd make Audubon scream, 
And John Burroughs laugh, to encounter such chaff. 
Do take that bird down, have him stuffed again, Brown ! " 
And the barber kept on shaving, 

" With some saw-dust and bark, I could stuff in the dark 
An owl better than that. I could make an old hat 
Look more like an owl than that horrid fowl. 
Stuck up there so stiff like a side of coarse leather; 
In fact, about him there 's not one natural feather." 

Just then with a wink and a sly, normal lurch. 
The owl very gravely got down' from the perch. 
Walked round and regarded his fault-finding critic 
(Who thought he was stuffed) with a glance analytic, 
And then fairly hooted, as if he should say : 
"Your learning's at fault this time any way; 
Do n't waste it again on a live bird, I pray. 
I 'm an owl ; you 're another. Sir Critic, good-day ! " 
And the barber kept on shaving. 

JAMES T. FIELDS. 



272 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 



PYRAMUS AND THISBE. 

This tragical tale, which they say is a true one, 

Is old ; but the manner is wholly a new one. 

One Ovid, a writer of some reputation, 

Has told it before in a tedious narration ; 

In a style, to be sure, of remarkable fullness, 

But which nobody reads on account of its dullness. 

Young Peter Pyramus — I call him Peter, 
Not for the sake of the rhyme or the meter, 
But merely to make the name completer — 
For Peter lived in the olden times, 
And in one of the worst of pagan climes 
That flourish now in classical fame, 
Long before either noble or boor 
Had such a thing as a Christian name. 
Young Peter, then, was a nice young beau 
As any young lady would wish to know ; 
In years, I ween, he was rather green ; 
That is to say, he was just eighteen — 
A trifle too short, a shaving too lean, 
But " a nice young man " as ever was seen, 
And fit to dance with a May-day queen! 

Now Peter loved a beautiful girl 

As ever ensnared the heart of ah earl 

In the magical trap of an auburn curl — 

A little Miss Thisbe, who lived next door 

(They slept, in fact, on the very same floor, 

With a wall between them, and nothing more — 

Those double dwellings were common of yore). 

And thej'^ loved each other, the legends say, 

In that very beautiful, bountiful way. 

That every young maid and every young blade 

Are wont to do before they grow staid. 

And learn to love by the laws of trade ; 

But (alack-a-day, for the girl and boy ! ) 

A little impediment checked their joy, 

And gave them awhile the deepest annoy ; 

For some good reason, which history cloaks. 

The match did n't happen to please the old folks ! 



HUMOROUS AND BELINEATIVE. 273 

So Thisbe's father and Peter's mother 

Began the young couple to worry and bother, 

And tried their innocent passion to smother, 

By Iveeping the lovers from seeing each other ! 

But who ever heard of a marriage deterred. 

Or even deferred, 

By any contrivance so very absurd 

As scolding the boy and caging the bird ? 

Now Peter, who was n't discouraged at all 

By obstacles such as the timid appall, 

Contrived to discover a hole in the wall, 

Whi(;h Avas n't so thick, but removing a brick 

Made a passage — though rather provokingly small. 

Through this little chink the lover could greet her. 

And secrecy made their courting the sweeter, 

While Peter kissed Thisbe, and Thisbe kissed Peter — 

For kisses, like folks with diminutive souls, 

Will manage to creep through the smallest of holes ! 

'Twas here that the lovers, intent upon love. 

Made a nice little plot to meet at a spot. 

Near a mulberry- tree, in a neighboring grove ; 

For the plan was all laid by the youth and the maid, 

Whose hearts, it would seem, were uncommonly bold ones, 

To run off and get married in spite of the old ones. 

In the shadows of evening, as still as a mouse, 

The beautiful maiden slipped out of the house, 

The mulberry-tree impatient to find ; 

While Peter, the vigilant matrons to blind, 

Strolled leisurely out, some minutes behind. 

While waiting alone by the trysting-tree, 

A terrible lion, as e'er you set eye on, 

Came roaring along quite horrid to see, 

And caused the young maiden in terror to fiee, 

(A lion 's a creature whose regular trade is 

Blood — and " a terrible thing among ladies,") 

And losing her veil, as she ran from the wood, 

The monster bedabbled it over with blood. 

Now Peter arriving, and seeing the veil 
All covered o'er and reeking with gore. 
Turned, all of a sudden, exceedingly pale, 
And sat himself down to weep and to wail — 



274 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

For, soon as he saw the garment, poor Peter 

Made up his mind in very short meter 

Tliat Tliisbe was dead, and the Hon had eat l)er! 

So breathing a prayer, he determined to share 

The fate of liis darhng, "the loved and the lost," 

And fell on his dagger, and gave up the ghost! 

Now Thisbe returning, and viewing her beau 

Lying dead by her veil (which she happened to know), 

She guessed in a moment the cause of his erring ; 

And, seizing the knife that had taken his life. 

In less than a jiffy was dead as a herring. 

J. G. SAXE. 



UNCLE TOM AND THE HORNETS. 

There is an old woman on Catliarine Street who de- 
lights to find a case that all the doctors have failed to cure, 
and then go to work with herbs, and roots, and strange 
things, and try to effect at least an improvement. A few 
days ago she got hold of a girl with a stiff neck, and she of- 
fered an old negro named Uncle Tom Kelly fifty cents to go 
to the woods and bring her a hornet's nest. This was to be 
steeped in vinegar, and applied to the neck. The old man 
spent several days along the Holden Road, and yesterday 
morning he secured his prize and brought it home in a bas- 
ket. When he reached the Central Market he had a iew 
little purchases to make, and after getting some tea at a 
grocery, he placed his basket on a barrel near the stove, and 
went out to look for a beef-bone. 

It was a dull day for trade. The grocer sat by the 
stove, rubbing his bald head. His clerk stood at the desk, 
balancing accounts; and three or four men lounged around, 
talking about the new party that is to be founded on the 
ruins of Democracy. It was a serene hour. One hundred 
and fifty hornets had gone to roost in that nest for the win- 
ter. The genial atmosphere began to limber them up. One 
old veteran opened his eyes, rubbed his legs, and said it was 



HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 275 

the shortest winter he had ever known in all his hornet 
days. A second shook off' his lethargy and seconded the" 
motion, and in five minutes the whole nest was alive, and 
its owners were ready to sail out and investigate. You 
do n't have to hit a hornet with the broad side of an ax to 
make him mad. He 's mad all over all the time, and he 
doesn't care a picayune whether he tackles a humming- 
bird or an elephant. 

The grocer was telling one of the men that he and 
General Grant were boys together, when he gave a sudden 
start of surprise. This was followed by several other starts. 
Then he jumped over a barrel of sugar, and yelled like a 
Pawnee. Some smiled, thinking he was after a funny 
climax ; but it was only a minute before a solemn old 
farmer jumped three feet high and came down to roll over 
a job-lot of washboards. Then the clerk ducktjd his head 
and made a rush for the door. He did n't get there. One 
of the other men, who had been looking up and down to 
see what could be the matter, felt suddenly called upon to 
go home. He was going at the rate of forty miles an 
hour, when he collided with the clerk, and they rolled on 
the floor. There was no use to tell the people in that 
store to move on. They could n't tarry to save 'em. They 
all felt that the rent was too high, and that they must vacate 
the premises. A yell over by the cheese-box was answered 
by a war-whoop from the show-case. A howl from the 
kerosene barrel, near the back door, was answered by wild 
gestures around the show-Avindow. 

The crowd went out together. Uncle Tom was just 
coming in with his beef-bone. The old man laid around 
in the slush until every body had stepped on him all they 
wanted to, and then he sat up and asked: " Hev dey got 
de fiah all put out yit?" 

Some of the hornets sailed out doors to fall by the way- 
side, and others waited around on top of barrels, and bas- 
kets, and jars, to be slaughtered. It was half an hour 



276 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

before the last one was disposed of, and then Uncle Tom 
walked in, picked up the nest, and said : 

'' Mebbe dis will cure de stiffness in dat gal's neck, jist 
de same, but I tell you I 'ze got banged, an' bumped, an' sot 
down on 'till it will take a hull medical college all winter 
long to git me so I kin jump off a street kyar ! " 

DETROIT FREE PRESS. 



SHE WOUI.D BE A MASON. 

The funniest thing I ever heard, 
The funniest thing that ever occurred, 
Is the story of JNIrs. Mehitable Byrde, 
Who wanted to be a Mason. 

Her husband, Tom Byrde, a Mason true — 
As good a Mason as any of you ; 
He is tyler of Lodge Cerulean Blu?, 
And tyles and delivers the summons due — 
And she wanted to be a Mason, too. 
This ridiculous Mrs. Byrde. 

She followed round, this inquisitive wife. 

And nagged him and teased him half out of his life 

So to terminate this unhallowed strife. 

He consented at last to admit her. 
And first, to disguise her from bonnet and shoon, 
This ridiculous lady agreed to put on 
His breech— ah! forgive me — I meant pantaloons; 

And miraculously did they fit her. 

The lodge was at work on the Master's degree, 
The light was ablaze on the letter C ; 
High soared the pillars J and B. 
The officers sat like Solomon, wise; 
The brimstone burned amid horrible cries ; 
The goat roamed wildly through the room ; 
The candidate begged them to let him go home; 
And the devil himself stood up at the east. 
As broad as an alderman at a feast, 
When in came Mrs. Byrde. 



HUMOROUS AND DELINK ATIVE. 277 

0, horrible sounds ! 0, horrible sight ! 

Can it be that jMasons take delight 

In spending thus the hours of night ? 

Ah ! could their wives and daughters know 

The unutterable things they say and do, 

Their feminine hearts would burst with woe ! 

But this is not all my story. 
Those Masons joined in a hideous ring, 
The candidates howling like every thing, 
And thus in tones of death they sing 

(Tlie candidate's name was Moray) : 
" Double, double, toil and trouble, 
Fire burn and cauldron bubble ; 
Blood to drink and bones to crack, 
Skulls to smash and lives to take, 
Hearts to crush and souls to burn ; 
Give old Morey another turn ! " 

The brimstone gleamed in lurid flame. 
Just like a place we will not name ; 
Good angels, that inquiring came 
From blissful courts, looked on with shame 

And tearful melancholy. 
Again they dance, but twice as bad, 
They jump and sing like demons mad; 

The tune is far from jolly: 
"Double, double, toil and trouble, 
Fire burn and cauldron bubble ; 
Blood to drink and bones to crack. 
Skulls to smash and lives to take, 
Hearts to crush and souls to burn ; 
Give old Morey another turn ! " 

Trembling with horror stood Mrs. Byrde, 
Unable to speak a single word. 
She staggered and fell in the nearest chair, 
On the left of the junior warden there, 
And scarcely noticed, so loud the groans, 
That the chair was made of human bones. 
Of human bones! On grinning skulls 
That ghastly throne of horror rolls; 
Those skulls, the skulls that Morgan bore; 
Those bones, the bones that Morgan wore. 



278 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

His scalp across the top was flung, 
His teeth around the arms were strung. 
Never in all romance was known 
Such uses made of human bone. 

There came a pause— a pair of paws 
Reached through the floor, up sliding-doors, 
And grabbed the unhappy candidate ! 
How can I, without tears, relate 
The lost and ruined Morey's fate ? 
8he saw him sink in fiery hole, 
She heard him scream, '* My soul ! ]\Iy soul! " 
While roars of fiendish laughter roll, 

And, drown the yells for mercy: 
" Double, double toil and trouble, 
Fire burn and cauldron bubble ; 
Blood to drink and bones to crack, 
Skulls to smash and lives to take, 
Hearts to crush and souls to burn ; 
Give old Morey another turn ! " 

The ridiculous woman could stand no more, 
She fainted and fell on the checkered floor, 
'Midst all the diabolical roar. 
Wliat then, you ask me, did befall 
Mehitable Byrde ? Why, nothing at all- 
She dreamed she had been in a Mason's hall. 



JAMES L. LAUOnrON. 



NICODEMUS DODGE. 

When I was a boy in a printing-ofiice in Missouri, a 
loose-jointed, long-legged, tow-headed, jeans-clad, countrified 
cub of about sixteen lounged in one day, and without re- 
moving his hands from the depths of his trowsers pockets 
or taking off his faded ruin of a slouch hat, whose broken 
rim hung limp and ragged about his eyes and ears like a 
cabbage-leaf, stared indifferently around, then leaned hts hip 
against the editor's table, crossed his mighty brogans, aimed 
at a distant fly from a crevice in his upper teeth, laid him 
low, and said, with composure: 

''Whar's the boss?" 



HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 279 

"I am the boss," said the editor, following this curious 
bit of architecture woiideringly along up to his clock-face 
with his eye. 

"Don't want anybody fur to learn the business, 't ain't 
likely?" 

"Well, I don't know. Would you like to learn it?" 

" Pap 's so po' he cai n't run me no mo', so I want to git 
a show somers if I kin, 't ain't no diffunce what; I'm 
strong and hearty, and I don't turn my back on no kind of 
work, hard nur soft." 

"Do you think you would like to learn the printing 
business ? " 

"Well, I don't re'ly k'yer what I do learn, so's I git 
a chance fur to make my way. I'd jist as soon learn, 
print'n 's any thing." 

"Can you read?" 

"Yes; middlin'." 

"Write?" 

" Well, I've seed people could lay over me thar." 

"Cipher?" 

" Not good enough to keep store, I don't reckon ; but to 
as far as twelve times twelve I ain't no slouch. T' other side 
of that is AA'hat gits me." 

" Where is your home ? " 

"I'm f'm old Shelby.'* 

"What's your father's religious denomination?" 

"Him? O, he's a blacksmith." 

" No, no. I don't mean his trade. What's his religious 
denomination ? " 

" O, I did n't understand you befo'. He 's a Freemason." 

" No, no ; you do n't get my meaning yet. What I mean 
is, does he belong to any Church ?" 

" Now you're talkin'! Could n't make out what you was 
a tryin' to git through yo' head no way. B'long to a Church ! 
Why, boss, he 's ben the pizenest kind of a Free-will Baptis' 
for forty year. They ain't no pizener ones 'n what he is. 



280 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

Mighty good man, pap is. Every body says that. If they 
said any difFruut they would n't say it whar I wuz ; not much 
they wouldn't." 

"What is your own religion?" 

"Well, boss, you've kind o' got me thar, and yit you 
hain't got me so mighty much nuther. I think 't if a feller 
he'ps another feller when he's in trouble, and don't cuss, 
and don't do no mean things nur nothin' he ain't no busi- 
ness to do, he aint runnin' no resks; he's about as saift as 
if he b'longed to a Church." 

"But suppose he did do mean things, what then?" 

"Well, if he done 'em a purpose, I reckon he wouldn't 
stand no chance ; he ought n't to have no chance, any way, 
I'm most certain sure 'bout that." 

"What is your name?" 

" Nicodem us Dodge.'' 

" I think maybe you'll do, Nicodemus. We'll give you 
a trial, any way." 

"All right." 

"When would you like to begin?" 

"Now." 

So within ten minutes after we had first glimpsed this 
nondescript he was one of us, and with his coat off and 
hard at it. 

Beyond that end of our establishment which was furthest 
from the street was a deserted garden, pathless, and thickly 
grown with the bloomy and villainous "jimpson" weed and 
its common friend, the stately sunflower. In the midst of 
this mournful spot was a decayed and aged little frame 
house, with but one room, one window, and no ceiling ; it 
had been a smoke-house a generation before. Nicodemus 
was given this lonely and ghostly den as a bed-chamber. 

The village smarties recognized a treasure in Nicodemus 
right away — a butt to play jokes on. It was easy to see that 
he was inconceivably green and confiding. George Jones 
had the glory of perpetrating the first joke on him ; he gave 



HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 281 

him a cigar with a fire-cracker in it, and wiuked to the 
crowd to come. The thing exploded presently, and swept 
away the bulk of Nicodemus's eyebrows and eyelashes. He 
simply said : 

"I consider them kind of seeg'yars dangersome," and 
seemed to suspect nothing. The next evening Nicodemus 
waylaid George, and poured a bucket of ice-water over him. 

One day, while Nicodemus was in swimming, Tom 
McElroy "tied" his clothes. Nicodemus made a bonfire 
of Tom's, by way of retaliation. 

A third joke was played upon Mcodemus a day or two 
later. He walked up the middle aisle of the village Church 
Sunday night with a staring hand-bill pinned between his 
shoulders. The joker spent the remainder of the night, 
after church, in the cellar of a deserted house ; and Nico- 
demus sat on the cellar door till toward breakfast time, to 
make sure that the prisoner remembered that if any noise 
were made some rough treatment would be the consequence. 
The cellar had two feet of stagnant water in it, and was 
bottomed with six inches of soft mud. 

Before a very long time had elapsed, the village smarties 
began to feel an uncomfortable consciousness of not having 
made a very shining success out of their attempts on the 
simpleton from *'old Shelby." Experimenters grew scarce 
and chary. Now the young doctor came to the rescue. 
There was delight and applause when he proposed to scare 
Nicodemus to death, and explained how he was going to 
do it. He had a noble, new skeleton — the skeleton of the 
late and only local celebrity, Jimmy Finn, the village 
drunkard ; a grisly piece of property which he had bought' 
of Jimmy Finn himself, at auction, for fifty dollars, under 
great competition, when Jimmy lay very sick in the tan- 
yard, a fortnight before his death. The fifty dollars had 
gone promptly for whisky, and had considerably hurried up 
the change of ownership in the skeleton. The doctor would 
put Jimmy Finn's skeleton in Nicodemns's bed. This was 

24 



282 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

done about half-past ten in the evening. About Nicodemus's 
usual bed-time — midnight — the village jokers came creeping 
stealthily through the jimpson-weeds and sunflowers toward 
the lonely frame den. They reached the window, and 
peeped in. There sat the long-legged pauper on his bed, 
dangling his legs contentedly back and forth, and wheezing 
the music of ''Camptown Races" out of a paper-overlaid 
comb, which he was pressing against his mouth. By him lay 
a new jewsharp, a new top, a solid India-rubber ball, a hand- 
ful of painted marbles, five pounds of "store" candy, and 
a well-gnawed slab of gingerbread as big and as thick as a 
volume of sheet music. He had sold the skeleton to a trav- 
eling quack for three dollars, and was enjoying the result. 

MARK TWAIN. 



GUESSING NATIONALITIES. 

As Haekis and I sat, one morning, at one of the small 
round tables of the great Hotel Schweitzerhof in Lucerne, 
watching the crowd of people, coming, going, or breakfasting, 
and at the same time endeavoring to guess where such and 
such a party came from, I said : 

"There is an American party." 

"Yes; but name the State." 

I named one State, he named another. We agreed upon 
one thing, however ; that the young girl with the party was 
very beautiful and very tastefully dressed. But we disagreed 
as to her age. I said she was eighteen ; Harris said she was 
twenty. The dispute between us waxed warm, and I finally 
said, with a pretense of being in earnest : 

"Well, there is one way to settle the matter; I will go 
and ask her." 

Harris said, sarcastically: "Certainly; that is the thing 
to do. All you need to do is to use the common formula 
over here : go and say, ' I am an American ! ' Of course she 
will be glad to see you." 



HUMORO US AND BELINEA Tl VE. 283 

Then he hinted that perhaps there was no great dansrer 
of my venturing to speak to her, 

I said : " I was only talking ; I did n't intend to approach 
her, but I see that you do not know what an intrepid person 
I am. I am not afraid of any woman that walks. I will 
go and speak to this young girl." 

The thing I had in mind was not difficult. I meant to 
address her in the most respectful way, and ask her to pardon 
me if her strong resemblance to a former acquaintance of 
mine was deceiving me ; aud when she should reply that the 
name I mentioned was not the name she bore, I meant to 
beg pardon again, most respectfully, and retire. There would 
be no harm done. I walked to her table, bowed to the gen- 
tleman, then turned to her, and was about to begin my little 
speech, when she exclaimed : *'I knew I Avas n't mistaken ; I 
told John it was you! John said it probably was n't, but I 
knew I was right. I said you would recognize me presently 
and come over; and I'm glad you did, for I shouldn't have 
felt much flattered if you had gone out of this room without 
recognizing me. Sit down, sit down. How odd it is! you 
are the last person I was ever expecting to see again." 

This was a stupefying surprise. It took my wits clear 
away, for an instant. However, we shook hands cordially 
all around, and sat down. But truly this was the tightest 
place I ever was in. I seemed to vaguely remember the 
girl's face, now ; but I had no idea where I had seen it 
before, or what name belonged with it, I immediately tried 
to get up a diversion about Swiss scenery, to keep her from 
launching into topics that might betray that I did not know 
her ; but it was of no use, she went right along upon matters 
which interested her more : 

"O dear! what a night that was, when the sea washed 
the forward boats away! Do you remember it?" 

"O don't I?" said I; but I didn't, I wished the sea 
had washed the rudder and the smoke-stack and the captain 
away, then I could have located this questioner. 



284 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

"And don't you remember how frightened poor Mary- 
was, and how she cried?" 

"Indeed I do!" said I. "Dear me, how it all comes 
back!" 

I fervently wished it would come back, but my memory 
was a blank. The wise way would have been to frankly 
own up ; but I could not bring myself to do that, after the 
young girl had praised me so for recognizing her; so I went 
on, deeper and deeper into the mire, hoping for a chance 
clue but never getting one. The Unrecognizable continued, 
with vivacity : 

"Do you know, George married Mary, after all?" 

"Why, no! Did he?" 

"Indeed he did. He said he did not believe she was 
half as much to blame as her father was, and I thought he 
was right. Did n't you ? " 

"Of course he was. It was a perfectly plain case. I 
always said so." 

" Why, no, you didn't; at least that summer." 

"O no! not that summer. No, you are perfectly right 
about that. It Avas the following winter that I said it." 

"Well, as it turned out, Mary was not in the least to 
blame ; it was all her father's fault ; at least his and old 
Darley's." 

It was necessary to say something, so I said : 

"I always regarded Darley as a troublesome old thing." 

"So he was; but then they always had a great affec- 
tion for him, although he had so many eccentricities. You 
remember that when the weather was the least cold he would 
try to come into the house." 

I was rather afraid to proceed. Evidently Darley was 
not a man. He must be some other kind of an animal ; 
possibly a dog ; may be an elephant. However, tails are 
common to all animals, so I ventured to say : 

"And what a tail he had!" 

"One! He had a thousand!" 



HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 285 

This was bewilderiag. I did not quite kuow what to say, 
so I only said : 

"Yes, he was pretty well fixed in the matter of tails." 

"For a negro, and a crazy one at that, I should say he 
was," said she. 

It was getting pretty sultry for rae. I said to myself: 
"Is it possible she is going to stop there, and wait for rae 
to speak? If she does, the conversation is blocked. A 
negro with a thousand tails is a topic which a person can 
not talk upon fluently and instructively without more or less 
preparation. As to diving rashly into such a vast subject " 

But here, to my gratitude, she interrupted my thought 
by saying : 

" Yes, when it came to tales of his crazy woes, there was 
simply no end to them if any body would listen. His own 
quarters Avere comfortable enough, but when the weather 
was cold, the family was sure to have his company; nothing 
could keep him out of the house. But they always bore it 
kindly because he had saved Tom's life, years before. You 
remember Tom?" 

" O, perfectly. Fine fellow he was, too." 

"Yes; and what a pretty little thing his child was!" 

"You may well say that. I never saw a prettier child." 

"I used to delight to pet it and dandle it and play 
with it." 

"So did I." 

"You named it. What was that name? I can't call it 
to mind." 

It appeared to me that the ice was getting pretty thin 
here. I would have given something to know what the 
child's sex was. However, I had the good luck to think of 
a name that would fit either sex, so I brought it out : 

" I named it Frances." 

"From a relative, I suppose? But you named the 
one that died ; one that I never saw. What did you call 
that one?" 



286 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

I was out of neutral names, but as the child was dead 
and she had never seen it, I thought I might risk a name 
for it, and trust to luck, therefore I said : 

" I called that one Thomas Henry." 

She said, musingly : 

" That is very singular — very singular." 

I sat still and let the cold sweat run down. I was in a 
good deal of trouble, but I believed I could worry through 
if she would n't ask me to name any more children. I won- 
dered where the lightning was going to stril^e next. She 
■was still ruminating over that last child's title, but presently 
she said : 

" I have always been sorry you were away at the time; 
I would have had you name my child." 

'* Your child ! Are you married ? " 

" I have been married thirteen years." 

" Christened, you mean ?" 

"No, married. The youth by your side is my son." 

*' It seems incredible, even impossible. I do not mean 
any harm by it, but would you mind telling me if you are 
any over eighteen ? that is to say, will you tell me how old 
you are?" 

" I was just nineteen the day of the storm we were talk- 
ing about. That was my birthday." 

That did not help matters much, as I did not know the 
date of the storm. I tried to think of some non-committal 
thing to say, to keep up my end of the talk, and render my 
poverty in the matter of reminiscences as little noticeable as 
possible, but I seemed to be about out of non-committal 
things. I was about to say, "You haven't changed a bit 
since then," but that was risky. I thought of saying, "You 
have improved ever so much since then," but that would 
not answer, of course. I was about to try a shy at the 
weather, for a saving change, when the girl slij)ped in ahead 
of me and said: "How I have enjoyed this talk over 
those happy old times ; have n't you ? " 



HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 287 

" I never have spent such a half hour in all my life be- 
fore ! " said I, with emotion; and I could have added, with 
a near approach to truth, " and I Avould rather be scalped 
than spend another one like it." I was grateful to be 
through with the ordea], and was about to make my good- 
byes and get out, when the girl said : 

"But there is one thing that is ever so puzzling to me." 

"Why, what is that?" 

" That dead child's name. What did ' you say it was ?' 

Here was another balmy place to be in ; I had forgotten 
the child's name ; I had n't imagined it would be needed 
again. However, I had to pretend to know, any way, so I 



"Joseph Wilham." 

The youth at my side corrected me, and said : 

" No ; Thomas Henry." 

I thanked him, in words, and said, Avith trepidation : 
"O, yes ; I was thinking of another child that I named ; 
I have named a great many, and I got them confused ; this 
one was named Henry Thompson " 

"Thomas Henry," calmly interposed the boy. 

I thanked him again — strictly in words — and stammered 
out: 

"Thomas Henry — yes, Thomas Henry was the poor 
child's name. I named him for Thomas — er — Thomas Car- 
lyle, the great author, you know ; and Henry — er — er — 
Henry the Eighth. The parents w^ere very grateftd to have 
a child named Thomas Henry. 

"That makes it more'singular than ever," murmured my 
beautiful friend. 

"Does it? Why?" 

" Because when the parents speak of that child now, they 
always call it Susan Amelia." 

That spiked my gun. I could not say any thing. I w^as 
entirely out of verbal obliquities ; to go further would be to 
lie, and that I would not do ; so I simply sat still and suf- 



288 ELOCUTION AND OR A TOR Y. 

fered ; sat mutely and resignedly there, and sizzled, for I 
was being slowly fried to death in my own blushes. Pres- 
ently the enemy laughed a happy laugh, and said : 

" I have enjoyed this talk over old times, but you have 
not. I saw very soon that you were only pretending to 
know me ; and so as I had wasted a compliment on you in 
the beginning, I made up my mind to punish you. And I 
have succeeded pretty well. I was glad to see that you 
knew George and Tom and Darley, for I had never heard of 
them before and therefore could not be sure that you had ; 
and I Avas glad to learn the names of those imaginary chil- 
dren, too. One can get quite a fund of information out of 
you if one goes at it cleverly. Mary and the storm, and the 
sweeping away of the forward boats, were facts ; all the rest 
was fiction. Mary was my sister ; her full name was 
Mary . Now do you remember me ? " 

" Yes," I said ; " I do remember you now ; and you are 
as hard-hearted as you were thirteen years ago in that ship, 
else you would n't have punished me so. You have n't 
changed your nature nor your person, in any way at all ; 
you look just as young as you did then, you are just as 
beautiful as you were then, and you have transmitted a deal 
of your comeliness to this fine boy. There ; if that speech 
moves you any, let's fly the flag of truce, with the under- 
standing that I am conquered and confess it" 

All of which was agreed to and accomplished on the spot. 

MARK TWAIN. 



ARTKMUS WARD'S PANORAMA. 

PROGRAM. 

Every night, except Saturday, at 8. Doors open at 3 ; 
Artemus opens at half-past seven. Reserved seats 75 cents. 
Gen. Ad. $1.25. Front seats free. Those who sit nearest 
the speaker will be paid a premium. Children charged 
double price. Infants in arms will be used in the orchestra. 



HUMOROUS AND BELINEATIVE. 289 

Artemus Ward delivered lectures before all the crowned 
heads of Europe — ever thought of delivering lectures. 

Duriog the vacation the hall has been carefully swept 
out, and a new door-knob has been added to the door. 

Mr. Artemus Ward will call on the listeners at their 
homes, and explain any jokes in his lecture which they may 
not understand. 

A person of long experience will take care of bonnets, 
cloaks, hats, coats, etc., and will see that they are not re- 
turned. The auditors will leave their money with Mr. 
AYard, who will take care that it gets safely into Canada. 

Nobody must say that he likes this lecture unless he 
wishes to be thought eccentric ; and nobody must say that 
he does'nt like it unless he really is eccentric. P. S. — This 
requires thinking over, but it will amply repay the effort. 

The panorama used to illustrate Mr. Ward's lecture is 
rather worse than panoramas usually are. 

Soldiers on the battle-field will be admitted to this enter- 
tainment as the curtain falls on the last joke. 

TESTIMONIALS. 
" Mr. Artemus Ward : 

" My Dear Sir, — My wife was dangerously afflicted for over 
sixteen years. She was so weak that she could not lift a tea-spoon 
to her mouth. But in a fortunate moment she commenced read- 
ing one of your lectures. She got better at once. She gained 
strength so rapidly that she lifted the cottage piano quite a dis- 
tance from the floor, and let it fall on her mother-in-law, with 
whom she had had some trouble. There are a number of mar- 
ried men out here who wish to introduce your lectures into their 
family. If you need any more recommendations, you can get all 
you want at two shillings, the price I charge for this one. 
" I am, sir, yours truly, and so is my wife," 

A correspondent of a distinguished journal speaks thus 
of Mr. Ward's power as an orator : — 

"It was a grand scene, Mr. Artemus Ward standing on 
the platform, talking ; many of the audience sleeping tranquilly 

25 



290 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY, 

in their seats; others leaving the room and not returning; others 
weeping bitterly at some of his jokes, — all, all formed a most im- 
pressive scene. And when he announced that he would never 
lecture in that town again, the applause was absolutely deafening." 

INTRODUCTION. 

First appearance of Artemus Ward, who will be greeted 
with great applause. When quiet has been restored, the 
lecturer will present a rather frisky prologue of about ten 
minutes in length, and of nearly the same width. It, perhaps, 
is n't necessary to speak of the depth. 

THE LECTURE. 

You are entirely welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to my 
little picture-shop. I can give you a better idea of my 
lectures by opening a picture-shop, and therefore I open one. 

If you should be dissatisfied with any thing in this lecture, 
I will admit you free to one in New Zealand. Any re- 
spectable cannibal will direct you. This shows that I can 
forgive as well as forget. 

I am not an artist. I don't paint myself — though per- 
haps I would if I were a middle-aged single lady. Your 
applause is embarrassing. I am a modest man. A dis- 
tinguished sculpist once wanted to sculp me. But I said, 
*' No." I saw through the designing man. My model once 
in his hands, he would have flooded the market with my 
busts. This would be more than I could stand, and I 
would have to return to my home — where my creditors are. 

I like art. I admire dramatic art, although I failed as 
an actor. It was in my school days. The play was the 
"Kuins of Pompeii." I played the Ruins. Although I 
played that part better, perhaps, than I could have played 
any thing else, yet it was not a very successful impersona- 
tion ; but it was better than the ''Burning Mountain." He 
was a poor Vesuvius. 



HUMOROUS AND DELINEATIVE. 291 

As a manager I was rather more successful than as an 
actor. Some years ago I engaged a celebrated Living Amer- 
ican Skeleton for a tour through Australia. He was the 
thinnest man I ever saw. He was a splendid skeleton. It 
is a long voyage, you know, to Australia, and to my utter 
surprise the skeleton had no sooner got out to sea than he 
commenced eating in the most horrible manner. He had 
never been on the ocean before, and he said it agreed with 
him. I thought so ! I never saw a man eat so much in 
my life — beef, mutton, pork ! — and between meals he was 
often discovered behind barrels eating hard-boiled eggs ! The 
result was that when we reached Melbourne this infamous 
skeleton weighed sixty-four pounds more than I did ! 

At first I thought I was ruined. But I wasn't. My 
genius as a manager asserted itself, and I took him on 
another long sea-voyage, and when I got him to San Fran- 
cisco I exhibited him as a Fat Man. 

This story has n't any thing to do with my lecture, I 
know ; but one of the principal features of my lecture is that 
it contains so many things that do n't have any thing to do 
with it. 

I like music. I can *t sing. As a singist I am not a 
success. I am saddest when I sing. So are those who hear 
me. They are sadder even than I am. The other night a 
silver-voiced young man came under my window and sang, 
** Come where my love lies dreaming." I did n't go. I 
found music very soothing when I lay ill with fever in 
Utah — and I was very ill. I was fearfully wasted. My 
^ace was hewn down to nothing. And on one of those dis- 
mal days a Mormon lady used to sing a ballad commencing: 
*' Sweet bird, do not flyaway!" I told her I wouldn't. 
She played the accordion divinely — accordingly I was pleased. 

THE PICTURES. 

We will now put the panorama to work. The first pic- 
ture we present, as you perceive, is a view of the California 



292 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

steamship. Large crowds of citizens on the wharf, who ap- 
pear entirely willing that Artemus Ward shall go. "Bless 
you, sir!" thej say; "don't hurry about coming back. 
Stay away for years, if you want to ! " It was very touching. 

Disgraceful treatment of the passengers, who are obliged 
to go forward to smoke pipes, while the steamer is allowed 
two smoke-pipes amid-ships. Your applause at this point 
was wholly unexpected. 

I will now offer for your inspection a picture of Virginia 
City, the wild young metropolis of the new Silver State. 
Fortunes are made there in a day. There are instances on 
record of young men going there without a shilling, poor 
and friendless, yet by energy, intelligence, and a careful dis- 
regard to business, have been enabled to leave, owing hun- 
dreds of dollars. 

This is a picture of the great desert at night. It is a 
dreary waste of sand. The sand is n't worth saving, however. 

This is the Mormon theater. The Mormons mostly pay 
in grain and all sorts of articles. The night I gave my lec- 
ture there, among my receipts were corn, flour, pork, cheese, 
chickens (on foot and in the shell). One family tried to go 
in on a live pig, but my agent repulsed that family. The 
*' Lady of Lyons " was produced a short time since, but failed 
to satisfy the Mormon audience, on account of there being 
but one Pauline in it. It was presented the next night with 
fifteen Paulines in the cast, and was a perfect success. Some 
of these Mormons have large families. I lectured one night 
by invitation in a Mormon village, and during the day I 
rashly gave a leading Mormon an order admitting himself 
and family. They filled the hall to overflowing. It was a 
great success, but I did n't get any money. I saw this man's 
mother-in-law. I can 't exactly say how many there were 
of her, but it was a good deal. I should think one mother- 
in-law was about enough to have in a family, unless you are 
very fond of excitement. 

This being a view of the west side of Main Street, it is 



HUMOR US AND BELINEA TIVE. 293 

naturally a view of the west side of Main Street. We do not 
ask or expect any applause for that. 

You will now observe the Endowment House, where the 
Mormon is initiated into the mysteries of his faith. His 
religion is singular, and his wife is plural. This is Brigham 
YouDg and his wives. The pretty girls of Utah mostly 
marry Young. See ? 

Here is a picture of the Great Salt Lake. I know of 
no greater curiosity than this inland sea of thick brine. 
They say a Mormon farmer once drove forty head of cattle 
into it, and they came out first-rate pickled beef. 

This sparkling water-fall is the Laughing Water alluded 
to by Mr. Longfellow, in his Indian poem, " Higher Water," 
You notice the higher water up there? 

Those of the audience who are not offended with Artemus 
Ward are cordially invited to call upon him, often, at his 
fine new house in Brooklyn. It is on the right hand side as 
you cross the ferry, and may be easily distinguished from 
the other houses by its having a cupola and a mortgage on 
it. I was once told to seize opportunity. I seized one and 
he knocked me down. I have since learned that he who 
seizes opportunity sees the penitentiary. I will seize this 
opportunity to close my lecture. 

ABEIDGED BY VIRGIL A. PINKLEY. 



REFLECTIVE AND RETROSPECTIVE. 



SOLILOQUY OF AN OLD MAN. 

This world is but a charnel-house of woe ; 

Of bruised and bleeding hearts that silent mourn. 

Each day the tomb of buried memories. 

Which, like unshrived ghosts arise, 

Haunting the mind ; and, as they come 



294 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

And go, they tell of disappointed hopes ; 

Of expectations high, raised e'en to heaven, 

Then dashed remorselessly to earth ; 

Of labors lost ; of unrequited love ; 

Of misspent time which, rightly used, had led 

To fortune or to fame ; of friends, now gone, 

Who would have loved us, but whose love we spurned; 

Who yet will burst upon our solitude. 

And stand beside us, with strange, yearning look. 

As if to tell us something that they know. 

Yet can not give it speech. Ah! who sliall say 

He is not haunted thus, with ghosts of things 

That might have been, but never can be now ? 

A skeleton there is in every house. 

But veiled and kept from prying eyes. 

Each heart well knows its secret bitterness, 

And strangers meddle not, but pass it by, 

All conscious, yet pretending not to know. 

But when the veil is rudely torn aside, 

And the grim specter stands, as 't were, impaled 

Before the gaze of all, and we are chained 

And bound before it, wrung'with agony, 

We bow the head and cry : " O Lord, how long! " 

Our friends look on with sadly pitying eye ; 

A tear is all that they can give to this, 

A life-long misery, which no human power 

Can soften or remove ; this poisoned cup. 

Which drink we must alone, the very dregs ; 

This worm, which slowly draws the sap of life ; 

This daily dying, and the funeral car 

Even at our door. 

Tempests which fright and ruin may be borne, 

For sunshine fellows quick ; with hearts relieved, 

We gather up the wreck and soon forget. 

Death comes and takes aw^ay a much-loved friend ; 

We mourn the loss, but time heals up the Avound. 

Welcome healthful cares that brace the mind ; 

Life's grand struggle glorified by hope; 

Battle fierce upon the field of glory ; 

Dark clouds, with silver fringe and blue beyond, 



REFLECTIVE AND RETROSPECTIVE. 295 

Welcome ! But brooding clouds that will not break, 

That have no silver lining and no form, 

Oppress the wearied spirit, and destroy 

The very love of life ; and the soul sighs 

For some sharp storm whose lightning may dispel 

The heavy gloom, and once again restore 

The light of hope, the roseate hue of life. 

O Hope ! sweet consolation long denied ; 
Come, now, and lift thy beaming smile, 
Gladden again this bruised and broken heart. 

Faith ! I lift my hands and eyes to thee. 
Raise me, I pray, and give me strength to bear. 
In vain I call, nor Faith nor Hope reply ; 
They are but names, and not the source of joy. 
But lo ! a still small voice from out the cloud : 

" My son, be still and know that I am God, 
And I alone ; besides me there is none. 

1 try thee for thy good, and when I see 
My face reflected, then full well I know 
The gold is purified ; and not till then." 

I heard, and as I listened, now there came, 

A softened feeling stealing o'er my soul ; 

A passive resignation to His will 

Who speaks from out the cloud. And then I said: 

" Thy will, O Lord, be done ! " 

It came at last. The storm for which I sighed 

Burst in relentless fury on my head, 

And I was cast full prone upon a rock. 

I swooned ; and when I lifted up my eyes, 

And looked once more upon the sea of life, 

The barque in which wdth joy I 'd sailed, was gone ; 

Companions of my youth all swallowed up 

In one wild gurge ; and nothing now was left 

But crested billows breaking on the rock 

With mournful sound, the requiem of the lost. 

Away to seaward drifted fast the cloud. 

Broken in horrid mist before the wind ; 

But overhead one speck of deep-blue sky, 

And in the west one ray of golden light 



296 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

Just piercing through the cloud, as if the sun 
Would smile a benediction on the wreck 
The storm had made. 

Now years have passed ; the wounded heart has healed, 

But not the broken life ; for naught but death 

Can wipe the memory out of those sad days. 

Another bark has spread its glancing sail 

Upon the sea of life, whose waves are calm, 

And favoring breezes waft it gladly on; 

And many other ships are round about, 

From out of which there greet my ear at times 

Gay songs of joy and youthful merriment. 

But I sail on alone. And now I think 

The haven of my rest can not be far. 

E'en now I see its highlands looming up 

Blue in dim distance, and the summer sun 

Has set beneath the waves. From out the depths 

The heavens are lighted up with fervid glow. 

Across the rainbow hues, peacefully there rest 

Empurpled clouds, bordered with burnished gold. 

The broken remnants of a by-gone storm. 

'Tis so with me. My cloud has lifted, too, 
Revealing now a future bright with hope. 
Across the vision there are shadows still — 
Sad memories of the past, but lighted up 
With deep abysmal rays. And now I know 
The lesson He would teach and I would learn. 

What would the sunset be without the clouds 
That mar its clearness, and yet add the grace ? 
And what would be the sunset of our lives 
Without the hallowed memories that relieve 
The radiance of an eternal light beyond ? 

C. R. BROOKE. 



RESIGNATION. 



There is no flock, however watched and tended, 

But one dead lamb is there ; 
There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, 

But has one vacant chair. 



REFLECTIVE AND RETROSPECTIVE. 297 

The air is full of farewells to the dying, 

And mournings for the dead; 
The heart of Eachel, for her children crying, 

Will not be comforted ! 

Let us be patient ! These severe afflictions 

Not from the ground arise, 
But oftentimes celestial benedictions 

Assume this dark disguise. 

We see but dimly through the mists and vapors ; 

Amid these earthly damps 
What seem to us but sad funereal tapers, 

May be Heaven's distant lamps. 

There is no death ! What seems so is transition ; 

This life of mortal breath 
Is but a suburb of the life elysian, 

Whose portal we call death. 

She is not dead — the child of our affection — 

But gone into that school 
Where she no longer needs our poor protection, 

And Christ himself doth rule. 

In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion, 

By guardian angels led, 
Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution, 

She lives, whom we call dead. 

Day after day we think what she is doing 

In those bright realms of air ; 
Year after year, her tender steps pursuing, 

Behold her grown more fair. 

Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken 

The bond which nature gives, 
Thinking that our remembragnce, though unspoken, 

May reach her where she lives. 

Not as a child shall we again behold her ; 

For when with raptures wild 
In our embraces we again enfold her, 

She will not be a child : 



298 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion, 

Clothed with celestial grace ; 
And beautiful with all the soul's expansion 

Shall we behold her face. 

And though at times, impetuous with emotion 

And anguish long suppressed, 
The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean, 

That can not be at rest, — 

We will be patient, and assuage the feeling 

We mny not wholly stay ; 
By silence sanctifying, not concealing. 

The grief that must have way. 

H. W. LONGFELLOW. 



MAC-0-CHEE. 



How many a vanished hour and day 

Have sunlight o'er me shed 
Since last I saw these waters play 

Along their pebbly bed! 
The bird-bent bough above them swings, 

The waves dance bright below, 
From the hazel near the cat-bird sings, 

As in long years ago. 

O'er blue-edged heights and sunlit plain 

Soft falls the purple noon. 
On rustling corn and waving grain, 

On stream and still lagoon ; 
Hard by the brook the blackbird trills, 

The glossy-coated crow 
Croaks hoarsely on the breezy hills. 

As in long years ago. 

The falcon, like a censer swung. 

Circles the blue above, 
The quail is calling to her young, 

While cooes the mournful dove ; 
The elder bloom, by road and stream, 

Lies heaped like drifted snow. 
The meadow birch nods to its dream, 

As in long years ago. 



EEFLECTIVE AXD EETBOSPECTIVE. 299 

The drowsy bee on laden wings, 

Voices the dreamy day ; 
The squirrel chatters as he swings, 

"While screams the restless jay ; 
The mild-eyed cattle, slow and grave, 

Swish in the shaded pool, 
Wliere hoarse frogs croak, and tall flags wave, 

And clear springs bubble cool. 

And now, as in that far-off time, 

The tillage sounds are dear, 
The cry of children, and the chime 

Of bells, break on the ear ; 
My playmates then are bearded men ; 

The men wax old and slow. 
Or sleep within God's silent glen, 

Where broods the long ago. 

I may not sing my eyes so dim, 

I may not sing the change 
That wrought upon my soul within. 

Its sadness, still and strange ; 
!N'or here by fragile flower and stream, 

Eepeat the well-worn lay. 
How we the fleeting shadows seem. 

Immortal substance they. 

But ah I these trees, and birds, and skies, 

And scented flowers' bloom, 
Are aU to me as one who lies 

Hid in a hollow tomb. 
Where murmurs of a busy world 

Sift through the creviced stone, 
And, like a leaf but half unfurled. 

Leaves all the tale unknown. 

Eound every life an Eden lies. 

In golden glow of youth. 
When romance tints with tender dyes 

The solemn page of truth : 
When hewer being thrills the heart 

To young love's magic hand. 
And as awake from dreams we start, 

To eaze on fairv land. 



300 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

AVhat deeper blue the skies assume, 

What tints the earth takes on ; 
What roseate hues our paths illume, 

A moment, then 't is gone ! 
And back we turn to earth again — 

Back to its weary strife ; 
Yet through all sorrow, sin, and pain, 

One vision sweetens life. 



DONN PIATT. 



AI,0NE. 

Alone! alone! 
Forth out of the darkness, 
Back into the darkness, 

We come and we go alone. 

O birth ! death ! 
Lone cry from the midnight. 
Moan lost in the midnight, 

A catch and a lapse of breath ! 

O youth ! fleet dream ! 
We sleep out of heaven, 
We dream down from heaven, 

Then wake from the fleeting dream. 

No more ! no more ! 
Youth's gladness of living. 
Love's madness of living. 

Can come back to me no more. 

Those glad, mad years ! 
How, dancing and singing. 
How danced and went winging 

Those passionate choral years ! 

To be ! to live ! 
What being, what living. 
What largess of living 

The blood of the boy can give! 



REFLECTIVE AND RETROSPECTIVE. 301 

O earth ! heaven ! 
Earth glad with all beauty, 
And no hint of duty 

From all the glad blue of heaven ! 

Sun, moon, and stars ! 
Lakes, woods with birds flying 
Through them, and the crying 

Of insects beneath the stars ! 

Then life in love ! 
Life's torrent-stream steadied, 
Stopt, flowed back, and eddied 

About in the pool of love. 

From boy to man ! 
Bridge built of a rainbow — 
Love's luminous rainbow, 

AVhich fadeth from boy to man. 

Love's fading bow ! 
Still following hither 
I follow^ on whither 

It lures me, and I must go. 

Yes, follow on ! 
Love's rainbow-ideal^ 
So nigh and so real. 

Still flies, but I follow on. 

For love is all ! 
Hope, pleasure, ambition, 
Fame's fullest fruition, 

Are nothing ; for love is all. 

But age grows lone ! 
For age is unlovely — 
Age wins not the lovely ; — 

We go as we came, alone. 

Alone! alone! 
Forth out of the darkness. 
Back into the darkness, 

We come and we go alone. 

COATES KINNEY. 



302 ELOCUTION AND OR A TOR Y. 



NAPOLEON. 

A LITTLE while ago I stood by the tomb of the first Na- 
poleon — a maguificent tomb of gilt and gold, fit almost for a 
dead deity; and here was a great circle, and in the bottom 
there, in a sarcophagus, rested at last the ashes of that rest- 
less man. I looked at that tomb, and I thought about the 
career of the greatest soldier of the modern world. As I 
looked, in imagination I could see him walking up and down 
the banks of the Seine, contemplating suicide. I could see 
him at Toulon ; I could see him at Paris, putting down the 
mob ; I could see him at the head of the army of Italy ; I 
could see him crossing the bridge of Lodi, with the tricolor 
in his hand ; I saw him in Egypt, fighting battles under the 
shadow of the Pyramids; I saw him returning; I saw him 
conquer the Alps, and mingle the eagles of France with the 
eagles of Italy; I saw him at Marengo; I saw him at Aus- 
terlitz; I saw him in Russia, where the infantry of the snow 
and the blast smote his legions, when death rode the icy wunds 
of winter. I saw him at Leipsic; hurled back upon Paris; 
banished; and I saw him escape from Elba, and retake an 
empire by the force of his genius. I saw him at the field of 
Waterloo, where fate and chance combined to wreck the for- 
tunes of their former king. I saw him at St. Helena, with 
his hands behind his back, gazing out upon the sad and 
solemn sea; and I thought of all the widows he had made, of 
all the orphans, of all the tears that had been shed for his 
glory; and I thought of the woman, the only woman who 
ever loved him, pushed from his heart by the cold hand of 
ambition. And I said to myself, as I gazed, I would rather 
have been a French peasant, and woi^n wooden shoes, and 
lived in a little hut with a vine running over the door, and 
the purple grapes growing red in the amorous kisses of the 
autumn sun; I would rather have been that poor French 
peasant, to sit in my door, with my wife knitting by my side, 
and my children upon my knees, with their arras around my 



REFLECTIVE AND RETROSPECTIVE. 303 

neck; I would rather have lived and died unnoticed and 
unknown except by those who loved me, and gone dowu to 
the voiceless silence of the dreamless dust; I would rather 
have been that French peasant than to have been that im- 
perial impersonation of force and murder who covered Europe 
with blood and tears. e. g. ingersoll. 



OUT TO OLD AUNT MARY'S. 

Wasn't it pleasant, brother mine, 
In those old days of the lost sunshine 
Of youth — when the Saturday's chores were through, 
And the Sunday's wood in the kitchen, too. 
And we went visiting, " I and you, 
Out to old Aunt Mary's?" 

It all comes back so clear to-day, 
Though I am as bald as you are gray ; 
Out by the barn-lot and down the lane 
We patter along in the dust again, 
As light as the tips of the drops of rain, 
Out to old Aunt Mary's. 

We cross the pasture, and through the wood 
Where the old gray snag of the poplar stood. 
Where the hammering red-heads hopped awry. 
And the buzzard raised in the open sky, 
And lolled and circled as we went by, 
Out to old Aunt Mary's. 

And then in the dust of the road again ; 
And the teams we met and the countrymen; .. 
And the long highway with the sunshine spread 
As thick as butter on country bread. 
And our cares behind and our hearts ahead, 
Out to old Aunt Mary's. 

I see her now in the open door, 
Where the little gourds grew up the sides and o'er 
The clap-board roof. And her face — me! 
Wasn't it good for a boy to see ? 
And wasn't it good for a boy to be 
Out to old Aunt Mary's ? 



304 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

And 0, my brother, so far awaj', 
This is to tell you she waits to-day 
To welcome us. Aunt Mary fell 
Asleep this morning, whispering: "Tell 
The boys to come." And all is well 
Out to old Aunt Mary's. 

JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. 



AUX ITALIHNS. 



At Paris it was, at the opera there ; 

And she looked like a queen in a book that night, 
With the wreath of pearl in her raven hair. 

And the brooch on her breast so bright. 

Of all the operas that Verdi wrote. 

The best, to my taste, is the Trovatore ; 

And Mario can soothe, with a tenor note, 
The souls in purgatory. 

The moon on the tower slept soft as snow ; 

And who was not thrilled in the strangest way, 
As we heard him sing, while the gas burned low, 

Non ti scordar di me ? 

The emperor there, in his box of state. 

Looked grave ; as if he had just then seen 

The red flag wave from the city gate, 

Where his eagles in bronze had been. 

The empress, too, had a tear in her eye; 

You 'd have said that her fancy had gone back again 
For one moment, under the old blue sky, 

To the old glad life in Spain. 

Well, there in our front-row box we sat 

Together, my bride betrothed and I ; 
My gaze was fixed on my opera-hat, 

And hers on the stage hard by. 

And both were silent, and both were sad ; 

Like a queen, she leaned on her full white arm, 
With that regal, indolent air she had; 

So confident of her charm ! 



REFLECTIVE AND RETROSPECTIVE. 305 

I have not a doubt she was thinking then 

Of her former lord, good soul that he was, 

Who died the richest and roundest of men. 
The Marquis of Carabas. 

I hope that, to get to the kingdom of heaven, 
Through a needle's eye he had not to pass ; 

I wish him well for the jointure given 
To my lady of Carabas. 

Meanwhile, I was thinking of my first love 

As I had not been thinking of aught for years, 

Till over my eyes there began to move 
Something that felt like tears. 

I thought of the dress that she wore last time, 

When we stood 'neath the cypress-trees together, 

In that lost land, in that soft clime, 
In the crimson evening weather ; 

Of that muslin dress— for the eve was hot — 

And her warm white neck in its golden chain ; 

And her full soft hair, just tied in a knot, 
And falling loose again ; 

And the jasmine flower in her fair young breast — 

O, the faint, sweet smell of that jasmine flower ! — 

And the one bird singing alone in his nest ; 
And the one star over the tower. 

I thought of our little quarrels and strife, 

And the letter that brought me back my ring ; 

And it all seemed then, in the waste of life, 
Such a very little thing ! 

For I thought of her grave below the hill, 

"Which the sentinel cypress-tree stands oyer ; 

And I thought: " Were she only living still, 
How I could forgive her and love her! " 

And I swear, as I thought of her thus, in that hour, 
And of how, after all, old things are best. 

That I smelt the smell of that jasmine flower 
Which she used to wear in her breast. 

It smelt so faint, and it smelt so sweet, 

It made me creep, and it made me cold ! 
26 



306 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY-, 

Like the scent that steals from the crumbling sheet 
Where a mummy is half unrolled. 

And I turned and looked : she was sitting there, 
In a dim box over the stage; and drest 

In that muslin dress, with that full soft hair, 
And that jasmine in her breast ! 

I was here, and she was there ; 

And the glittering horse-shoe curved between ; 
From my bride bethrothed, with her raven hair 

And her sumptuous scornful mien, 

To my early love with her eyes downcast. 

And over her primrose face the shade — ' 

In short, from the future back to the past — 

There was but a step to be made. 

My thinking of her, or the music's strain, 

Or something which never will be expressed, 

Had brought her back from the grave again, 
AVith the jasmin in her breast. 

She is not dead, and she is not wed ! 

But she loves me now, and she loved me then ! 
And the very first word that her sweet lips said. 

My heart grew youthful again. 

The Marchioness there, of Carabas, 

She is wealthy, and young, and handsome still; 
And but for her — well, we '11 let that pass; 

She may marry whomever she will. 

But I will marry my own first love, 

With her primrose face ; for old things are best, 
And the flower in her bosom, I prize it above 

The brooch in my lady's breast. 

The world is filled with folly and sin, 

And Love must cling where it can, I say; 

For Beauty is easy enough to win. 
But one is n't loved every day. 

And I think, in the lives of most women and men. 

There 's a moment when all would go smooth and even, 

If only the dead could find out when 
To come back and be forgiven. 



REFLECTIVE AND RETROSPECTIVE. 307 

But O, the smell of that jasmine-flower ! 

And O, that music! and 0, the way 
That voice rang out from the donjon tower, 

Non ti scordar di me, 

Non ti scordar di me ! 

ROBERT BULWEIl LYTTON. 



THE AINO LEGEND. 

FROM THE KALEVALA, THE EPIC OF FINLAND. 

Waiting long, the wailing Aino 
Thus at last soliloquizes: 
" Unto what can I now liken 
Happy homes and joys of fortune? 
Like the waters in the rivers, 
Like the waves in yonder lakelet, 
Like the billows seaward flowing. 
Unto what, the biting sorrow 
Of the child of cold misfortune? 
Like the spirit of the sea-duck, 
Like the icicle in winter, 
Water in the well imprisoned. 

" Often roamed my mind in childhood, 
When a maiden free and merry. 
Happily through fen and fallow ; 
Gamboled on the meads with lambkins. 
Lingered with the ferns and flowers, 
Knowing neither pain nor trouble. 
Now my mind is filled with sorrow, . 
Wanders through the bog and stubble. 
Wanders weary through the brambles, 
Roams throughout the dismal forest. 
Till my life is full of darkness, 
And my spirit white with anguish. 
Better had it been for Aino, 
Had she never seen the sunlight, 
Or, if born, had died an infant, 
Had not lived to be a maiden 
In these days of sin and sorrow, 
Underneath a star so luckless. 



308 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY, 

Better had it been for Aino, 

Had she died upon the eighth day, 

After seven nights had vanished; 

Needed then but httle linen, 

Needed but a Httle coffin, 

And a grave of smallest measure ; 

Mother would have mourned a little, 

Father, too, perhaps a trifle, 

Sister would have wept the day through. 

Brother might have shed a tear-drop ; 

Thus had ended all the mourning." 

Thus poor Aino wept and murmured, 
Wept one day, and then a second, 
Wept a third horn morn till even. 
When again her mother questioned: 
" Why this weeping, fairest daughter? 
Darling daughter, why this grieving?" 

Thus the tearful maiden answered: 
"Therefore do I weep and sorrow. 
Hapless maiden, all my life long, 
Since poor Aino thou hast given. 
Since thy daughter thou hast promised, 
To the ancient Wainamoinen, 
Comfort to his years declining. 
Prop to stay him when he totters ; 
In the storm, a roof above him ; 
In his home, a cloak around him. 
Better far if thou hadst sent me. 
Sank me in the salt sea-surges, 
To become the whiting's sister, 
And the friend of perch and salmon; 
Better far to ride the billows, 
Swim the sea-foam as a mermaid. 
And the friend of nimble fishes. 
Than to be an old man's solace. 
Prop to stay him when he totters, 
Hand to stay him Avhen he trembles, 
Arm to guide him when he falters, 
Strength to give him when he weakens; 
Better be the whiting's sister, 
And the friend of perch and salmon, 
Than an old man's slave and darling." 



REFLECTIVE AND RETROSPECTIVE, 309 

Ending thus, she left her mother, 
Straightway hastened to the mountain, 
To the store-house on the summit ; 
Opened there the box, the largest ; 
From the box six lids she lifted. 
Found therein six golden girdles, 
Silken dresses, seven in number; 
Choosing such as pleased her fancy, 
She adorned herself as bidden, 
Eobed herself to look her fairest, 
Gold upon her throbbing temples, 
In her hair the shining silver, 
On her shoulders purple ribbons, 
Bands of blue around her forehead. 
Golden cross, and rings, and jewels. 
Fitting ornaments to beauty. 

Now she leaves her many treasures, 
Leaves the store-house on the mountain, 
Filled with gold and silver trinkets, 
Wanders over field and fallow, 
Over stone-fields waste and barren, 
Wanders on through fen and forest. 
Through the fir-fields vast and cheerless, 
Wanders hither, wanders thither. 
Singing, careless, as she wanders. 
This her mournful song and echo : 
"Woe is me, my life hard-fated! 
Woe to Aino, broken-hearted ! 
Torture racks my heart and temples ; 
Yet the sting would not be deeper, 
Nor the pain and anguish greater. 
If beneath this weight of sorrow. 
In my saddened heart's dejection, 
I should yield my life forever. 
Now, unhappy, I should perish. 
Lo! the time has come for Aino 
From this cruel world to hasten, 
To the kingdom of Tuoni, 
To the realm of the departed, 
To the isle of the hereafter. 

" Weep no more for me, O father ; 
Mother, dear, withhold thy censure, 



310 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

Lovely sister, stay thy tear-drops; 
Do not mourn me, dearest brother, 
When I sink beneath the sea-foam, 
Make my home in salmon-grottoes, 
Make my bed in crystal waters, 
Water-ferns my couch and pillow." 

All day long poor Aino wandered, 
All the next day, sad and weary, 
So the third, from morn till even, 
Till the cruel night enwrapped her. 
As she reached the sandy margin. 
Reached the cold and dismal sea-shore; 
Sat upon the rock of sorrow. 
Sat alone in cold and darkness. 
Listened only to the music 
Of the winds and rolling billows, 
Singing all the dirge of Aino. 
All night long the weary maiden 
Wept and wandered on the border, 
Through the sand and sea-washed pebbles. 

As the day dawns, looking round her, 
She beholds three water-maidens. 
On a headland jutting seaward, 
Water-maidens three in number. 
Sitting on the wave-lashed ledges. 
Swimming now upon the billows, 
Now upon the rocks reposing. 
Quick the weeping maiden, Aino, 
Hastens there to join the mermaids, 
Winsome daughters of the waters. 
Weeping Aino, now disrobing. 
Lays aside with care her garments, 
Hangs her silk-robes on the alders, 
Drops her gold-cross on the sea-shore, 
On the aspen hangs her ribbons ; 
On the rocks, her silken stockings; 
On the grass, her shoes of deer-skin ; 
In the sand her shining necklace. 
With her rings and other jewels. 

Out at see a goodly distance. 
Stands a stone of rainbow-colors. 
Glittering in the silver sunshine. 



REFLECTIVE AND RETROSPECTIVE 311 

Toward it springs the hapless maiden, 
Thither swims the lovely Aino, 
Up the standing-stone has clambered, 
AVishing there to rest a moment, 
Rest upon the rock of beauty; 
When upon a sudden, swaying 
To and fro among the billows. 
With a crash and roar of waters, 
Falls the stone of many colors, 
Falls upon the very bottom 
Of the deep and boundless blue-sea. 
With the stone of rainbow colors 
Falls the luckless maiden, Aino, 
Clinging to its craggy edges, 
Sinking far below the surface, 
To the homes of the sea-daughters. 

Thus the weeping maiden vanished, 
Thus poor Aino left her tribe-folk. 
Singing as the stone descended, 
Chanting thus as she departed : 
" Once to swim I sought the sea-side, 
There to sport among the billows ; 
With the stone of many colors 
Sank poor Aino to the bottom 
Of the deep and boundless blue-sea, 
Like a pretty song-bird, perished. 
Never come a-fishing, father, 
To the borders of these waters. 
Never during all thy life-time, 
As thou lovest daughter Aino. 

" Mother dear, I sought the sea-side, 
There to sport among the billows ; 
With the stone of many colors, 
Sank poor Aino to the bottom 
Of the deep and boundless blue-sea, 
Like a pretty song-bird, perished. 
Never mix thy bread, dear mother, 
AVith the blue-sea's foam and waters. 
Never during all thy life-time, 
As thou lovest daughter Aino. 

" Brother dear, I sought the sea-side, 
There to sport among the billows; 



312 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

With the stone of many colors, 
Sank poor Aino to the bottom 
Of the deep and boundless blue-sea, 
Like a pretty song-bird, perished. 
Never bring thy prancing war-horse, 
Never bring tliy royal racer, 
Never bring thy steeds to water, 
To the borders of the blue-sea, 
Never during all thy Hfe-time, 
As thou lovest sister Aino. 

" yister dear, I sought tlie sea-side, 
There to sport among the billows ; 
With the stone of many colors. 
Sank poor Aino to the bottom 
Of the deep and boundless blue-sea, 
Like a pretty song-bird, perished. 
Never come to lave thine eyelids 
In this rolling wave and sea-foam, 
Never during all thy life-time, 
As thou lovest sister Aino. 
All the waters of the blue-sea 
Shall be blood of Aino's body ; 
All the fish that swim these waters 
Shall be Aino's flesh forever ; 
All the willows on the sea-side 
Shall be Aino's ribs hereafter ; 
All the sea-grass on the margin 
Will have grown from Aino's tresses." 

Thus at last the maiden vanished, 
Thus the lovely Aino perisherl. 

J. M. CRAWFORD. 



THE WHISTLE OF THE QUAIL. 

In the heart of the dusty city, 

As I threaded a crowded street, 

'Mid the city's din and clamor, 

And the scorching glare and heat, 

It rang out somewhere above me, 
Clear and loud and sweet. 

I lifted my eyes in wonder, 
I lifted mj^ heart in joy ; 



REFLECTIVE AND RETROSPECTIVE. 313 

Eagerly listening heads were turned, 

" 'T is surely a clever toy — 
Some skillful mocking songster, 

Or a happy, whistling boy." 

Again ! ah, never human 

Held such a sound in his throat, 

And if but a mocking songster. 
He hath caught a perfect note. 

And the crowding roofs and the people 
Away from around me float. 

wide, green summer fields that lie 
Under a blue and sunny sky, 

Where white clouds slowly sail ! 
Your silence to my heart doth speak, 

1 feel your breezes on my cheek, 

At the whistle of the quail : 
" So sweet! so sweet! " 
The whistle of the quail. 

The breeze that stirs the yellow wheat, 
With rustling whispers vague and sweet ; 

The hum of bees that trail 
O'er plenteous gold along — I hear 
All sounds of summer, soft and clear 

In the whistle of the quail : 
" So sweet! so sweet ! " 

The whistle of the quail. 

cool, dark nooks 'neath bending trees, 
Soft grass where I might lie at ease. 

And dream and watch the frail 
White butterflies flit past ! I see 
And long for you when comes to me 

The whistle of the quail : 
" So sweet ! so sweet ! " 

The whistle of the quail. 

The breath of fruitful, upturned soil. 
Of mint and subtle pennyroyal ; 

All lowly things that vale 
And hill are rich in — wrap me round, 

27 



314 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY, 

Sweet summer sights and scents and sounds, 
At the whistle of the quail : 
" So sweet ! so sweet ! " 
The whistle of the quail. 

MARY S. PA DEN. 



HEROIC AND PATRIOTIC. 



A ROYAI^ PRINCESS. 

I, A PRINCESS, king-descen led, decked with jewels, gilded drest, 
Would rather be a peasant with her baby at her breast. 
For all I shine so like the sun, and am purple like the west. 

Two and two my guards behind, two and two before, 

Two and two on either hand, they guard me evermore ; 

Me, poor dove, that must not coo, — eagle, that must not soar. 

All my fountains cast up perfumes, all my gardens grow 
Scented woods and foreign spices, with all flowers in blow 
That are costly, out of season as the seasons go. 

All my walls are lost in mirrors, whereupon I trace 
Self to right hand, self to left hand, self in every place — 
Self-same solitary figure, self-same seeking face. 

Alone by day, alone by night, alone days without end; 

My father and my mother give me treasures, search and spend — 

O my father! my mother! have you ne'er a friend? 

My father counting up his strength, sets down with equal pen 

So many head of cattle, head of horses, head of men ; 

These for slaughter, these for breeding, with the how and when. 

Some to work on roads, canals; some to man his ships; 
Some to smart in mines beneath sharp overseers' whips; 
Some to trap fur-beasts in lands where utmost winter nips. 

Once it came into my heart, and whelmed me like a flood. 
That these, too, are men and women, human flesh and blood; 
Men with hearts and men with souls, though trodden down like 
mud. 



HEROIC AND PATRIOTIC. 3l5 

Our feasting was not glad that night, our music was not gay ; 
On my mother's graceful head I marked a thread of gray ; 
My father, frowning at the fare, seemed every dish to weigh. 

I sat beside them, sole princess, in my exalted place ; 
My ladies and my gentlemen stood by me on the dais ; 
A mirror showed me I looked old and haggard in the face. 

It showed me that my ladies all are fair to gaze upon. 

Plump, plenteous-haired, to every one love's secret lore is known; 

They laugh by day, they sleep by night ; — ah me ! what is a throne ? 

Amid the toss of torches to my chamber back we swept; 

My ladies loosed my golden chain ; meantime I could have wept 

To think of some in galling chains, whether they waked or slept. 

I took my bath of scented milk, delicately waited on ; 

They burned sweet things for my delight, cedar and cinnamon; 

They lit my shaded silver-lamp, and left me there alone. 

A day went by, a week went by. One day I heard it said: 
"Men are clamoring, women, children, clamoring to be fed; 
Men, like famished dogs, are howling in the streets for bread." 

I strained my utmost sense to catch the words, and mark: 

"There are families out grazing, like cattle in the park; 

A pair of peasants must be saved, even if we build an ark." 

A merry jest, a merry laugh, each strolled upon his way; 
One was my page, a lad I reared and bore with day by day ; 
One was my youngest maid, as sweet and white as cream in May. 

Other footsteps followed softly with a weightier tramp ; 

Voices said: "Picked soldiers have been summoned from the 

camp 
To quell these base-born ruffians who make free to howl and 

stamp." 

" Howl and stamp ?" one answered. "They made free to hurl 

a stone 
At the minister's state-coach, well aimed and stoutly thrown." 
"There's work, then, for soldiers; for this rank crop must be 

mown." 

"After us the deluge," was retorted with a laugh. 
"If bread's the staff of life, they must walk without a staff." 
" While I 've a loaf, they 're welcome to my blessing and the 
chaff." 



316 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

These passed. The king: stand up. Said my father with a 

smile : 
" Daughter mine, your mother comes to sit with you awhile ; 
She 's sad to-day, and who but you her sadness can beguile?" 

He, too, left me. Shall I touch my harp now while I wait? — 
I hear them doubling guard below before our palace gate, — 
Or shall I work the last gold-stitch into my veil of state? 

Or shall my woman stand and read some unimpassioned scene? — 
There 's music of a lulling sort in words that pause between, — 
Or shall she merely fan me while I wait here for the queen? 

Again I caught my father's voice in sharp word of command: 
"Charge! " a clash of steel. "Charge again, the rebels stand. 
Smite and spare not, hand to hand ; smite and spare not, hand 
to hand." 

There swelled a tumult at the gate, high voices waxing higher; 
A flash of red reflected-light lit the cathedral spire ; 
I heard a cry for fagots, then I heard a yell for fire. 

Now this thing will I do, while my mother tarrieth: 

I will take my fine-spun gold, but not to sew therewith ; 

I will take my gold and gems, and rainbow fan and wreath ; 

With a ransom in my lap, a king's ransom in my hand, 

I will go down to this people, will stand face to face, — will stand 

Where they curse king, queen, and princess of this cursed land. 

They shall take all to buy them bread, take all I have to give ; 
I, if I perish, perish ; they to-day shall eat and live ; 
I, if I perish, perish ; that 's the goal I half conceive : 

Once to speak before the world, rend bare my heart and show 
The lesson I have learned, which is death, is life, to know. 
I, if I perish, perish ; in the name of God I go. 

CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI. 



WII.LIAM TELL ON FREEDOM. 

Ye crags and peaks, I 'm with you once again ! 
I hold to you the hands you first beheld, 
To show they still are free. Methinks I hear 
A spirit in your echoes answer me, 



HER OIC AND PA TRIOTIC. 3 1 7 

And bid your tenant welcome to his home ! 
I 'm with you once again ! I call to you 
With all my voice ! I hold my hands to you, 
To show they still are free. 

Once Switzerland was free ! With what a pride 
I used to walk these hills, — look up to heaven, 
And bless God that it was so ! It was free — 
From end to end, from cliff to lake 'twas free! 
Free as our torrents are, that leap our rocks. 
And plow our valleys, without asking leave ; 
Or as our peaks, that wear their caps of snow 
In very presence of the regal sun ! 
How happy was I in it then ! I loved 
Its very storms. Ay ; often have I sat 
In my boat at night, when midway o'er the lake 
The stars went out, and down the mountain gorge 
The wind came roaring, — I have sat and eyed 
The thunder breaking from his cloud, and smiled 
To see him shake his lightnings o'er my head, 
And think I had no master save his own. 

On yonder jutting cliff, o'ertaken there 
By the mountain blast, I 've laid me flat along, 
And while gust followed gust more furiously. 
As if to sweep me o'er the horrid brink. 
And I have thought of other lands, whose storms 
Are summer flaws to those of mine, and just 
Have wished me there, — the thought that mine was free 
Has checked that wish, and I have raised my head, 
And cried in thralldom to that furious wind, 
Blow on ! This is the land of liberty ! knowles. 



BAY BII^IvY. 



'TwAS the last fight at Fredericksburg — 

Perhaps the day you reck, 
Our boys, the Twenty-second Maine, 

Kept Early's men in check ; 
Just where Wade Hampton boomed away 

The fight went neck-and-neck. 



318 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

All day we held the weaker wing, 

And held it with a will; 
Five several stubborn times we charged 

The battery on the hill, 
And five times beaten back, re-formed. 

And kept our columns still. 

At last from out the center fight 
Spurred up a general's aid. 

"That battery 7nust silenced be! " 
He cried, as past he sped. 

Our colonel simply touched his cap, 
And then, with measured tread, 

To lead the crouching line once more 
The grand old fellow came. 

No wounded man but raised his head, 
And strove to gasp his name. 

And those who could not speak nor stir, 
"God blessed him" just the same. 

For he was all the world to us. 

That hero gray and grim ; 
Right well he knew^ that fearful slope 

We 'd climb with none but him, 
Though while his white head led the way 

We 'd charge hell's portals in. 

This time we were not half-^vay up. 
When, midst the storm of shell. 

Our leader, with his sword upraised. 
Beneath our bayonets fell. 

And, as w-e bore him back, the foe 
Set up a joyous yell. 

Our hearts went with him. Back we swept, 

And when the bugle said, 
" Up, charge, again ! " no man was there 

But hung his dogged head. 
" We 've no one left to lead us now," 

The sullen soldiers said. 



HEROIC AND PATRIOTIC. 319 

Just then, before the laggard hne, 

The colonel's horse we spied — 
Baj' Billy, with his trappings on. 

His nostrils swelling wide, 
As though still on his gallant back 

The master sat astride. 

Eight royally he took the place 

That was of old his wont, 
And with a neigh, that seemed to say 

Above the battle's brunt, 
" How can the Twenty-second charge 

If I am not in front?" 

Like statues we stood rooted there, 

And gazed a little space ; 
Above that floating mane we missed 

The dear familiar face ; 
But we saw Bay Billy's eye of fire, 

And it gave us heart of grace. 

No bugle call could rouse us all 

As that brave sight had done; 
Down all the battered line we felt 

A lightning impulse run ; 
Up, up the hill w^e followed Bill, 

And captured every gun ! 

And when upon the conquered height 

Died out the battle's hum, 
Vainly 'mid living and the dead 

We sought our leader dumb ; 
It seemed as if a specter steed 

To win that day had come. 

At last the morning broke. The lark 

Sang in the merry skies 
As if to e'en the sleepers there 

It said, awake, arise ! 
Though naught but that last trump of all 

Could ope their heavy eyes. 



320 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

And then once more, with banners gay, 
Stretched out the long brigade ; 

Trimly upon the furrowed field 
The troops stood on parade, 

And bravely 'mid the ranks were closed 
The gaps the fight had made. 

Not half the Twenty-second's men 
Were in their place that morn, 

And Corporal Dick, who yester-noon 
Stood six brave fellows on, 

Now touched my elbow in the ranks, 
For all between were gone. 

Ah ! who forgets that dreary hour 

When, as with misty eyes, 
To call the old familiar roll 

The solemn sergeant tries? 
One feels that thumping of the heart 

As no prompt voice replies. 

And as, in faltering tone and slow. 

The last few names were said. 
Across the field some missing horse 

Toiled up with weary tread ; 
It caught the sergeant's eye, and quick 

Bay Billy's name was read. 

Yes ! there the old bay hero stood, 

All safe from battle's harms. 
And ere an order could be heard. 

Or the bugle's quick alarms, 
Down all the front, from end to end. 

The troops presented arms ! 

Not all the shoulder-straps on earth 

Could still our mighty cheer. 
And ever from that famous day, 

When rang the roll-call clear. 
Bay Billy's name was read, and then 

The whole line answered, " Here! " 

FRANK H. GAiSSAWAY. 



HER OIC AND PA TRIO TIC. 321 



THE MAIDEN MARTYR. 

A TROOP of soldiers waited at the door; 
A crowd of people gathered in the street ; 
Aloof a little from them bared sabers gleamed, 
And flashed into their faces. Then the door 
Was opened, and two women meekly stepped 
Into the sunshine of the sweet May -noon, 
Out of the prison. One was weak and old, 
A woman full of tears and full of woes ; 
The other was a maiden in her morn, 
And they were one in name, and one in faith, 
Mother and daughter in the bond of Christ, 
That bound them closer than the ties of blood. 

The troop moved on ; and down the sunny street 

The people followed, ever falling back 

As in their faces flashed the naked blades. 

But in the midst the women simply went 

As if they two were walking, side by side, 

Up to God's house on some still Sabbath morn ; 

Only they were not clad for Sabbath-day, 

But, as they went about their daily tasks. 

They went to prison, and they went to death, 

Upon their Master's servdce. 

On the shore 
The troopers halted ; all the shining sands 
Lay bare and glistering ; for the tide had drawn 
Back to its farthest margin's weedy mark, 
And each succeeding wave, with flash and curve, 
That seemed to mock the sabers on the shore, 
Drew nearer by a hand-breadth. "It will be 
A long day's work," murmured those murderous men 
As they slacked rein. The leader of the troops 
Dismounted, and the people passing near 
Then heard the pardon profi'ered, with the oath 
Renouncing and abjuring part with all 
The persecuted, covenanted folk. 
But both refused the oath : " Because," they said, 
" Unless with Christ's dear servants we have part, 
We have no part with him." 



322 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

On this they took 
The elder Margaret, and led her out 
Over the sliding sands, the weedy sludge, 
The pebbly shoals, far out, and fastened her 
Unto the farthest stake, already reached 
By every rising wave, and left her there ; 
And as the waves crept round her feet, she prayed 
"That He would firm uphold her in their midst, 
AVho holds them in the hollow of His hand." 

The tide flowed in. And up and down the shore 
There paced the provost and the Laird of Lag — 
Grim Grierson — with Windram and with Graham ; 
And the rude soldiers, jesting witli coarse oaths, 
As in the midst the maiden meekly stood, 
Waiting her doom delayed, said " she w^ould turn 
Before the tide — seek refuge in their arms 
From the chill waves. " But ever to her lips 
There came the wondrous words of life and pe^ace : 
•' If God be for us, who can be against? " 
" Who shall divide us from the love of Christ ? " 
" Nor height, nor dej^th, nor any other creature." 

From the crowd 
A woman's voice cried a very bitter cry — 
*'0 Margaret! My bonnie, bonnie Margaret! 
Gie in, gie in; my bairnie, dinna ye drown; 
Gie in, and tak' the oath! " 

The tide flowed in ; 
And so wore on the sunny afternoon; 
And every fire went out upon the hearth. 
And not a meal w^as tasted in the town that day. 
And still the tide was flowing in. 
Her mother's voice yet sounding in her ear, 
They turned young Margaret's face toward the sea, 
Where something white was floating— something 
White as the sea-mew that sits upon the wave ; 
But as she looked it sank ; then show^ed again ; 
Then disappeared ; and round the shore 
And stake the tide stood ankle-deep. 



HEROIC AND PA TRIO TIC. 323 

Then Grierson, 
With cursing, vowed that he wouhl wait no more, 
And to the stake the soldier led her down, 
And tied her hands ; and round her slender waist 
Too roughly cast the rope ; for AVindrain came 
And eased it, w^hile he whispered in her ear: 
" Come, take the test, and ye are free! " 
And one cried: " Margaret, say God save the King! " 
" God save the King of his great grace," she answered, 
But would not take the oath. 

And still the tide flowed in, 
And drove the people hack, and silenced them. 
The tide flowed in, and rising to her knees, 
8he sang the psalm, " To Thee I hft my soul ; " 
The tide flowed in, and rising to her waist, 
"To Thee, my God, I lift my soul," she sang. 
The tide flowed in, and rising to her throat, 
She sang no more, but lifted up her face. 
And there was glory over all the sky, 
And there w^as glory over all the sea — 
A flood of glory— and the lifted face 
Swam in it till it bowed beneath the flood, 
And Scotland's Maiden Martyr w^ent to God. 



GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY. 

She stood at the bar of justice, 

A creature wan and wdld. 
In form too small for a woman. 

In features too old for a child ; 
For a look so worn and pathetic 

Was stamped on her pale young face, 
It seemed long years of suffering 

Must have left that silent trace. 

"Your name," said the judge, as he eyed her 

With kindly look yet keen— 
" Is Mary McGuire, if you please sir." 

"And your age?"— "I am turned fifteen." 



324 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

" Well, Mary," and tlien from a paper 
He slowly and gravely read, 

"You are charged here — I'm sorry to say it- 
With stealing three loaves of bread. 

You look not like an offender, 

And I hope that you can show 
The charge to be false. Now, tell me, 

Are you guilty of this, or no?" 
A passionate burst of weeping 

Was at first her sole reply ; 
But she dried her eyes in a moment, 

And looked in the judge's eye. 

"I will tell you just how it was, sir: 

My father and mother are dead, 
And my little brother and sisters 

Were hungry, and asked me for bread. 
At first I earned it for them 

By working hard all day ; 
But somehow times were bad, sir, 

And the work all fell away. 

T could get no more employment ; 

The weather was bitter cold, 
The young ones cried and shivered — 

(Little Johnny 's but four years old) — 
So, what was I to do, sir? 

I am guilty, but do not condemn, 
I took— O was it stealing?— 

The bread to give to them." 

Every man in the court-room — 

Gray-beard and thoughtless youth- 
Knew, as he looked upon her. 

That the prisoner spake the truth. 
Out from their pockets came kerchiefs ; 

Out from their eyes sprung tears; 
And out from old faded wallets 

Treasures hoarded for years. 

The judge's face w^as a study — 
The strangest you ever saw, 

As he cleared his throat and murmured 
Something about the law. 



HEROIC AND PATRIOTIC. 325 

For one so learned in such matters, 

So wise in dealing with men, 
He seemed, on a simple question, 

Sorely puzzled just then. 

But no one blamed him or wondered, 

When at last these words they heard: 
"The sentence of this young prisoner 

Is, for the present, deferred." 
And no one blamed him or wondered 

AVhen he went to her and smiled, 
And tenderly led from the court room. 

Himself, the guilty child. 



THE OIvD SCHOOLMASTER. 

He sat by his desk at the close of the day, 

For he felt the weight of his many years ; 
His form was bent, and his hair was gray, 

And his eyes wore dim with the falling tears. 
The school was out, and his task was done. 

And the house seemed now so strangely still, 
As the last red beam of the setting sun 

Stole silently over the window-sill, — 

Stole silently into the twilight gloom; 

And the deepening shadow fell athwart 
The vacant seats, and the vacant room, 

And the vacant place in the old man's heart; 
For his school had been all in all to him, 

Who had wife, nor children, nor land, nor gold; 
But his frame was weak, and his eyes were dim. 

And the fiat was issued at last: "Too old." 

He bowed his head on his trembling hands 

A moment, as one might bend to pray: 
" ' Too old,' they say, and the school demands 

A wiser and younger head to-day. 
'Too old! too old!' these men forgot, 

It was I who guided their tender years ; 
Their hearts were hard, and they pitied not 

My trembling lips and my falling tears. 



326 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

' Too old : too old ! ' It was all they said. 

I looked in their faces one by one ; 
But they turned away, and my heart was lead. 

Dear Lord, it is hard, but thy will be done." 
The night stole on,^ and a blacker gloom 

Was over- the vacant benches cast; 
The master sat in the silent room, 

But his mind was back in the days long past. 
And the shadows took, to his tear-dimmed sight, 

Dear, well-known forms, and his heart was thrilled 
With the blessed sense of its delight, 

For the vacant benches were all well filled ; 
And he slowly rose at his desk, and took 

His well-worn Bible, that lay within, 
And he said, as he liglitly tapped the Book: 

'It is the hour; let school begin." 

And he smiled, as his kindly glances fell 

On the well-beloved faces there — 
John, Rob, and AVill, and laughing Nell, 

And blue-eyed Bess, with the golden hair; 
And Tom, and Charley, and Ben, and Paul, 

Who stood at the head of the spelling class, — 
All in their places; and yet they all 

AVere lying under the grave-yard grass. 

He read the Book, and he knelt to pray. 

And he called the classes to recite. 
For the darkness all had rolled away 

From a soul that saw by an inward light. 
With words of praise for a work of care, 

With kind reproof for a broken rule, 
The old man tottered, now here, now there, 

Through the spectral ranks of his shadow school. 

Thus all night long, till the morning came. 

And darkness folded her robe of gloom, 
And the sun looked in, with his eye of flame. 

On the vacant seats of the silent room. 
The wind stole over the window-sill, 

And swept through the aisles in a merry rout, 
But the face of the master was white and still ; 

His work was finished, and school was out. 

LEE O. HARRIS. 



HEROIC AND PATRIOTIC. 327 

WHO KISSED AWAY THE TEAR? 

Is ANY THING Stranger than the human heart? Nature 
sends a frail, green vine creeping across the earth to reach 
a grim wall and cover its ugliness; to reach a dead branch, 
and cover it with life. We bless nature as we see these 
things, and yet we do not realize that human hearts are 
ever doing the same. One day, months ago, a rosy-faced 
child, looking from a window, saw a queer old man go limp- 
ing past. It tapped on the pane, and the old man looked up. 
The sight of that sweet face opened his old heart, and he 
went on his way feeling richer than for many a month past. 
He was the grim wall; the child was the green vine. He 
passed again, and again the child was at the window, and 
for days and weeks they never missed seeing each other. At 
each meeting the vine crept nearer to the wall; the Avail ap- 
peared less grim and forbidding. One day the "wall" laid 
aside his hat for a better one. Another day he had a new 
coat. Again he was clean-shaved, and the "vine" scarcely 
recognized him. No one kncAV the old man ; but he knew 
that he was feeling the influence of the vine. 

A week ago as the old man passed he missed the face at 
the window. Was he too early or too late? He lingered 
and looked, and seemed lost. It was the same next day; but 
a kind heart pitied him, and sent out word that the child 
was sick. The green vine had reached the wall only to be 
blighted. Two days more, and there was crape on the door. 
The child was dead. It had fallen asleep in death without 
a struggle, knowing nothing of the grand hereafter, but 
having no fear. On its pale cheek was a tear — a single 
tear, which glistened like a diamond. No hand dared wipe 
that tear away. It seemed a tie between the present and 
the past — the living and the dead. 

*' Please can I see the — the child ! " It was the old man — 
the grim wall — who knocked timidly at the door and spoke 
thus. They knew him by sight, and they led him into the 



328 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

room where the vine lay dead. He stood over the coffin for 
a moment, lips quivering and eyes full of tears, and then 
he bent over and kissed the face which would watch for him 
no more. When he had gone, they looked for the tear. He 
had kissed it away ! Old and poor and unknown, he had 
reaped a treasure such as all the millions of the world could 

not buy. dktroit frek press. 

> 

DRAMATIC. 



MARY'S NIGHT-RIDE. 

Mary Richling, the heroine of the story, was the wife 
of John Richling, a resident of New Orleans. At the break- 
ing out of the Civil War she went to visit her parents in 
Milwaukee. About the time of the bombardment of New 
Orleans, she received news of the dangerous illness of her 
husband, and she decided at once to reach his bedside, if 
possible. Taking with her her baby daughter, a child of 
three years, she proceeded southward, where, after several 
unsuccessful attempts to secure a pass, she finally determined 
to break through the lines. 

About the middle of the night Mary Richling was sitting 
very still and upright on a large, dark horse that stood 
champing his Mexican bit in the black shadow of a great 
oak. Alice rested before her, fast asleep against her bosom. 
Mary held by the bridle another horse, whose naked saddle- 
tree was empty. A few steps in front of her the light of the 
full moon shone almost straight down upon a narrow road 
that just there emerged from the shadow of woods on either 
side, and divided into a main right-fork and a much smaller 
one that curved around to Mary's left. Off in the direction 
of the main fork the sky was all aglow with camp-fires. 
Only just here on the left there was a cool and grateful 
darkness. 



DRAMATIC. 329 

She lifted her head alertly. A twig crackled under a 
tread, and the next moment a man came out of the bushes at 
the left, and Tvithout a word took the bridle of the led-horse 
from her fingers, and vaulted into the saddle. The hand that 
rested for a moment on the cantle as he rose grasped a "navy 
six." He was dressed in plain "homespun," but he Avtis tlie 
same ^vho had been dressed in blue. He turned his horse, 
and led the way down the lesser road. 

" If we 'd of gone three hundred yards further, we 'd a run 
into the pickets. I went nigh enough to see the videttes 
Gettin' on their bosses in the main road. This here ain't no 
road; it just goes up to a nigger quarters. I've got one 
o' the niggers to show us the way." 

"Where is he?" whispered Mary; but before her com- 
panion could answer, a tattered form moved from behind a 
bush a little in advance, and started ahead in the path, walk- 
ing and beckoning. Presently they turned into a clear, open 
forest, and followed the long, rapid, swinging strides of the 
negro for nearly an hour. Then they halted on the bank 
of a deep, narrow stream. The negro made a motion for 
them to keep well to the right when they should enter the 
water. The white man softly lifted Alice to his arms, directed 
and assisted Mary to kneel in her saddle, with her skirts 
gathered carefully under her, and so they went down into 
the cold stream, the negro first, with arms outstretched 
above the flood; then Mary, and then the white man, or 
let us say plainly the spy, with the unawakened child on 
his breast. And so they rose out of it on the farther side 
without a shoe or garment wet, save the rags of their 
dark guide. 

Again they followed him, along a line of stake-and-rider 
fence, with the woods on one side, and the bright moonlight 
flooding a field of young cotton on the other. Now they 
heard the distant baying of house-dogs, now the doleful call 
of the chuckwill's-widow, and once INIary's blood turned 
for an instant to ice at the unearthly shriek of the hoot-owl 

28 



330 ELOCUTION AND ORA TOR Y. 

just above their heads. At length they found themselves 
in a dim, narrow road, and the negro stopped. 

''Dess keep dish yer road fo' 'bout half mile, an' you 
strak 'pon de broad, main road. Tek de right, an' you go 
Avhar yo' fancy tak you. Good-bye, miss. Good-bye, boss; 
do n't j^ou fo'git you promise tek me thoo to de Yankee, 
when you come back. I feered you gwine fo'git it, boss." 

The spy said he would not, and they left him. The half 
mile was soon passed, though it turned out to be a mile and 
a half, and at length Mary's companion looked back as they 
rode single file with Mary in the rear, and said softly: 
"There's the road." 

As they entered it and turned to the right, Mary, with 
Alice in her arms, moved somewhat ahead of her companion, 
her indifferent horsemanship having compelled him to drop 
back to avoid a prickly bush. His horse was just quicken- 
ing his pace to regain the lost position, when a man sprang 
up from the ground on the farther side of the highway, 
snatched a carbine from the earth, and cried: ''Halt!" 

The dark, recumbent forms of six or eight others could 
be seen, enveloped in their blankets, lying about a few red 
coals. Mary turned a frightened look backward, and met 
the eye of her companion. 

"Move a little faster," said he, in a low, clear voice. 
As he did so, she heard him answer the challenge, as his 
horse trotted softly after hers. 

"Don't stop us, my friend; we're taking a sick child to 
the doctor." 

"Halt, you hound!" the cry rang out; and as Mary 
glanced back, three or four men were leaping into the 
road. But she saw also her companion, his face suffused 
with an earnestness that was almost an agony, rise in his 
stirrups with the stoop of his shoulders all gone, and wildly 
cry: "Go!" She smote the horse, and flew. Alice awoke, 
and screamed. 

The report of a carbine rang out and went rolling away 



DRAMATIC. 331 

in'a thousand echoes through the wood. Two others followed 
in sharp succession, and there went close by Mary's ear the 
waspish whine of a minnie-ball. At the same moment she 
recognized — once, twice, thrice — just at her back where the 
hoofs of her companion's horse were clattering, the tart 
rejoinder of his navy six. 

''Go! lay low! lay low! cover the child!" But his 
words were needless. With head bowed forward and form 
crouched over the crying child, with slackened rein and flut- 
tering dress, and sun-bonnet and loosened hair blown back 
upon her shoulders, with lips compressed, and silent prayers, 
Mary Avas riding for life and liberty, and her husband's 
bed-side. 

"Go on! Go on! They're saddling up! Go! Go! 
We're going to make it! we're going to make it! Go-o-o ! " 

And they made it ! george w. cable. 



THE OLD WOMAN'S RAILWAY-SIGNAL. 

The most eflective working-force in the world in which 
we li^^e is the law of kindness. From time immemorial, 
music has wonderfully affected all beings, reasoning or un- 
reasoning, that have ears to hear. The prettiest idea and 
simile of ancient literature relates to Orpheus playing his 
lyre to animals listening in intoxicated silence to its strains. 
Well, kindness is the music of good-will to men and beasts; 
and both listen to it with their hearts, instead of their ears ; 
and the hearts of both are affected by it in the same way; 
if not to the same degree. Volumes might be written, filled 
with beautiful illustrations of its effect upon both. The music 
of kindness has not only power to charm, but even to trans- 
form, both the savage breast of man and beast ; and on this 
harp the smallest fingers in the world may play heaven's 
sweetest tunes on earth. 



332 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

Some time ago we read of an incident in America that 
will serve as a good illustration of this beautiful law. It 
was substantially to this effect : A poor, coarse -featured old 
woman lived on the line of the Baltimore and Ohio Railway, 
where it passed through a wild, unpeopled district in West- 
ern Virginia. She was a widow, with only one daughter 
living with her in a log hut, near a deep, precipitous gorge 
crossed by the railway bridge. Here she contrived to sup- 
port herself by raising and selling poultry and eggs, adding 
berries in their season, and other little articles for the 
market. She had to make a long, weary walk of many 
miles to a town where she could sell her basket of produce. 
The railway passed by her house to this town; but the ride 
would cost too much of the profit of her small sales ; so she 
trudged on generally to the market on foot. The conductor, 
or guard, came finally to notice her traveling by the side of 
the line, or on the footpath between the rails ; and being a 
good-natured, benevolent man, he would often give her a 
ride to and fro without charge. The engine-man and brake- 
man also were good to the old woman, and felt that they 
were not wronging the interest of the railway company by 
giving her these free rides. 

And soon an accident occurred that proved they were 
quite right in this view of the matter. In the wild month 
of March the rain descended, and the mountains sent down 
their rolling, roaring torrents of melted snow and ice into 
this gorge, near the old woman's house. The flood arose 
with the darkness of the night, until she heard the crash of 
the railway bridge, as it was swept from its abutments, and 
dashed its broken timbers against the craggy sides of the 
precipice on either side. It was nearly midnight. The rain 
fell in a flood ; and the darkness was deep and howling. In 
another half hour the train would be due. There was no 
telegraph on the line, and the stations were separated by 
great distances. What could she do to warn the train 
against the awful destruction it was approaching? She had 



DRAMATIC. 333 

hardly a tallow candle in her house ; aud no light she could 
make of tallow or oil, if she had it, would live a moment in 
that tempest of wind and rain. Not a moment was to be 
lost; and her thought was equal to tlie moment. She cut 
the cords of her only bedstead, and shouldered the dry 
posts, head-pieces, and side-pieces. Her daughter followed 
her Avith their two wooden chairs. Up the steep embauk- 
ment they climbed, and piled all of their household furniture 
ujDon the line, a few rods beyond the black, awful gap, 
gurgling with the roaring flood. The distaut rumbling of 
the train came upon them just as they had fired the well- 
dried combustibles. The pile blazed up into the night, throw- 
ing its red, swaliug, booming light a long way up the line. 
In fifteen minutes it would begin to wane ; aud she could 
not revive it with green, wet wood. The thunder of the 
train grew louder. It w^as within five miles of the fire. 
Would they see it in time? They might not put on the 
brakes soon enough. Awful thouglit ! She tore her red 
woolen gown from her in a momeut, aud tying it to the 
end of a stick, ran up the line, waving it in both hands, 
while her daughter swung around her head a blazing chair- 
post a little before. The lives of a hundred unconscious 
passengers hung on the issue of the next minute. The 
ground trembled at the old woman's feet. The great red eye 
of the engine showed itself coming round a curve. Like as 
a huge, sharp-sighted lion coming suddeuly upon a fire, it 
sent forth a thrilling roar, that echoed through all the wild 
heights and ravines around. The train was at full speed, 
but the brakemen wrestled at their leverage with all the 
strength of desperation. The wheels ground along on the 
heated rails slower and slower, until the engine stopped at 
the roaring fire. It still blazed enough to show them the 
beetling edge of the black abyss into which the train and all 
its passengers would have plunged into a death and destruc- 
tion too horrible to think of, had it not been for the old 
woman's sio^nal. 



334 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

Kindness is the music of good-will to men ; and on this 
harp the smallest fingers in the world may play heaven's 
sweetest tunes on earth. elihu burritt. 



THE LAST HYMN. 

Tfie Sabbath-day was ending in a village by the sea, 
Tlie uttered benediction touched the people tenderly, 
And they rose to face the sunset in the glowing, ligbted west, 
And then hastened to their dwellings for God's blessed boon 
of rest. 

But tliey looked across the waters, and a storm was raging there; 
A fierce spirit moved above them— the wild spirit of the air; 
And it lashed and shook and tore them, till they thundered, 

groaned, and boomed ; 
And alas for any vessel in their yawning gulfs entombed! 

Very anxious were the people on that rocky coast of AVales 
Lest the dawns of coming morrows should be telling awful tales, 
AVben the sea had spent its passion and should cast upon 

the shore 
Bits of wreck and swollen victims, as it had done heretofore. 

With the rough winds blowing round her. a brave "woman 

strained lier eyes, 
And she saw along the billows a large vessel fall and rise; 
O, it did not need a prophet to tell what the end must be ! 
For no ship could ride in safety near that shore on such a sea. 

Then the pitying people hurried from their homes, and thronged 

the beach. 
O, for power to cross the waters and the perishing to reach ! 
Helpless hands were wrung for sorrow, tender hearts grew cold 

with dread. 
And the ship urged by the tempest, to the fatal rock-shore sped. 

" Sbe has parted in the middle ! O, the half of her goes down ! 
God have mercy ! Is heaven far to seek for those who drown ? " 
Lo ! when next the white, shocked faces looked with terror on 

the sea, 
Only one last clinging figure on a spar was seen to be. 



DRAMATIC. " 335 

Nearer to the trembling watchers came the wreck tossed by the 

wave, 
And the man still clung and floated, though no power on earth 

could save. 
'' Could we send him a short message ? Here 's a trumpet. 

Shout away ! " 
'T was the preacher's hand that took it, and he wondered what 

to say. 

Any memory of his sermon ? Firstly ? secondly ? Ah no ! 

There was but one thing to utter in the awful hour of woe ; 

So he shouted through the trumpet: "Look to Jesus! Can 

you hear ? " 
And "Ay, ay, sir !" rang the answer o'er the waters loud and clear. 

Then they listened. "He is singing, ' Jesus, lover of my soul ! ' " 
And the winds brought back the echo, " AVhile the nearer 

waters roll ; " 
Strange, indeed, it was to hear him, " Till the storm of life 

is past," 
Singing bravely from the waters, " 0, receive my soul at last! " 

He could have no other refuge. " Hangs my helpless soul on Thee ; 
Leave, ah, leave me not." The singer dropped at last into the sea ; 
And the watchers, looking homeward through their eyes with 

tears made dim, 
Said : " He passed to be with Jesus in the singing of that hymn." 

MARIANNE FARNINGHAM. 



A SECOND TRIAI.. 

It was Commencement at one of our colleges. The peo- 
ple were pouring into the church as I entered it, rather 
tardy. Finding the choice seats in the center of the audience- 
room already taken, I pressed forward, looking to the right 
and to the left for a vacancy. On the very front row of 
seats I found one. 

Here a little girl moved along to make room for me, 
looking into my face with large gray eyes, whose brightness 
was softened by very long lashes. Her face was open and 
fresh as a newly blown rose before sunrise. Again and again 



336 ELOCUTION AND ORATOIiY. 

I found my eyes turning to the rose-like face, and each time 
the gray eyes moved, half-smiling, to meet mine. Evidently 
the child was ready to "make up" with me. And when, 
with a bright smile, she returned my dropped handkerchief, 
and I said, "Thank you!" we seemed fairly introduced. 
Other persons, now coming into the seat, crowded me quite 
close up against the little girl, so that we soon felt very well 
acquainted. 

"There 's going to be a great crowd," she said to me. 

" Yes," I replied ; " people always like to see how school- 
boys are made into men." 

Her face beamed with pleasure and pride as she said : 

" My brother's going to graduate; he's going to speak. 
I 'vc brought these flowers to throw to him." 

They were not greenhouse favorites; just old-fashioned 
domestic flowers, such as we associate with the dear grand- 
mothers ; "but," I thought, "they will seem sweet and 
beautiful to him for little sister's sake." 

" That is my brother," she went on. 

"The one with the liglit hair?" I asked. 

" O no," she said, smiling and shaking her head in in- 
nocent reproof; "not that homely one; that handsome one 
with brown, wavy hair. His eyes look brown, too; but 
they are not — they are dark-blue. There ! he 's got his 
hand up to his head now. You see him, do n't you?" 

In an eager way she looked from me to him, and from 
him to me, as if some important fate depended upon my 
identifying her brother. 

"I see him," I said. "He's a very good-looking 
brother." 

" Yes, he is beautiful," she said, with artless delight; 
"and he's so good, and he studies so hard. He has taken 
care of me ever since mamma died. Here is his name on 
the programme. He is not the valedictorian, but he has an 
honor, for all that." 

I saw in the little creature's familiarity with these tech- 



DRAMATIC. 337 

nical college terms that she had closely identified herself 
with her brother's studies, hopes, and successes. 

"His oration is a real good one, and he says it beauti- 
fully. He has said it to me a great many times. I 'most 
know it by heart. O! it begins so pretty and so grand. 
This is the way it begins," she added, encouraged by the in- 
terest she must have seen in my face : " Amid the permuta- 
tions and combinations of the actors and the forces which 
make up the great kaleidoscope of history, we often find 
that a turn of Destiny's hand ' " 

''Why, bless the baby!" I thought, looking down into 
her bright, proud face. I can 't describe how very odd and 
elfish it did seem to have those long words rolling out of the 
smiling, infantile mouth. 

As the exercises progressed, and approached nearer and 
nearer the effort on which all her interest was concentrated, 
my little friend became excited and restless. Her eyes 
grew larger and brighter, two deep-red spots glowed on her 
cheeks. 

"Now, it's his turn," she said, turning to me a face in 
which pride and delight and anxiety seemed about equally 
mingled. But when the overture was played through, and 
his name was called, the child seemed, in her eagerness, to 
forget me and all the earth beside him. She rose to her 
feet and leaned forward for a better view of her brother, as 
he mounted to the speaker's stand. I knew by her deep 
breathing that her heart was throbbing in her throat. I 
knew, too, by the way her brother came up the steps and to 
the front that he was trembling. The hands hung limp ; 
his face was pallid, and the lips blue as with cold. I felt 
anxious. The child, too, seemed to discern that things were 
not well with him. Something like fear showed in her face. 

He made an automatic bow. Then a bewildered, strug- 
gling look came into his face, then a helpless look, and then 
he stood staring vacantly, like a somnambulist, at the waiting 
audience. The moments of painful suspense went by, and 

29 



338 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

still he stood as if struck dumb. I saw how it was ; he had 
been seized with stage-fright. 

Alas ! little sister ! She turned her large, dismayed eyes 
upon me. *'He's forgotten it," she said. Then a swift 
change came into her face; a strong, determined look; and 
on the funeral-like silence of the room broke the sweet, 
brave, child-voice : 

" 'Amid the permutations and combinations of the actors 
and the forces which make up the great kaleidoscope of his- 
tory, we often find that a turn of Destiny's hand '" 

Every body about us turned and looked. The breathless 
silence ; the sweet, childish voice, the childish face, the long, 
unchildlike words, produced a weird effect. But the help 
had come too late ; the unhappy brother was already stagger- 
ing in humiliation from the stage. The band quickly struck 
up, and waves of lively music rolled out to cover the defeat. 

I gave the little sister a glance in which I meant to show 
the intense sympathy I felt ; but she did not see me. Her eyes, 
swimming with tears, were on her brother's face. I put my 
arm around her, but she was too absorbed to heed the ca- 
ress, and before I could appreciate her purpose, she was on 
her way to the shame-stricken young man sitting with a face 
like a statue's. 

When he saw her by his side the set face relaxed, and a 
quick mist came into his eyes. The young men got closer 
together to make room for her. She sat down beside him, 
laid her flowers on his knee, and slipped her hand in his. 

I could not keep my eyes from her sweet, pitying face. 
I saw her whisper to him, he bending a little to catch her 
words. Later, I found out that she was asking him if he 
knew his "piece" now, and that he answered yes. 

When the young man next on the list had spoken, and 
while the band was playing, the child, to the brother's great 
surprise, made her way up the stage steps, and pressed 
through the throng of professors and trustees, and distin- 
guished visitors, up to the college president. 



LRAMATIC. 339 

" If YOU please, sir," she said with a little courtesy, "will 
YOU and the trustees let mY brother try again y He knows 
his piece dow."' 

For a moment the president stared at her through his 
gold-bowed spectacles, and then, appreciating the child's pe- 
tition, he smiled on her, and went down and spoke to the 
young man who had failed. 

So when the band had again ceased playing, it was 

briefly announced that ^Ir. would now deliYer 

nis oration — "Historical Parallels." 

A ripple of heightened and expectant interest passed 
over the audience, and then all sat stone still, as though fear- 
mg to breathe, lest the speaker might again take fright, ^o 
danger I The hero in the youth was aroused. He went at 
his "piece" with a set purpose to conquer, to redeem him- 
self, and to bring the smile back into the child's tear- 
stained face. I watched the face during the speaking. 
The wide eyes, the parted lips, the whole rapt being said 
that the breathless audience was forgotten, that her spirit 
was moving with his. 

And when the address was ended with the ardent aban- 
don of one who catches enthusiasm in the realization that 
he is fighting down a wrong judgment and conquering a 
sympathy, the effect was really thrilling. That dignified 
audience broke into rapturous applause ; bouquets, intended 
for the valedictorian, rained like a tempest. And the chiid 
who had helped to save the day — that one beaming little 
face, in its pride and gladness — is something to be forever 
remembered. saeah wixtee kellogg. 



ONE NICHE THE HIGHEST. 

The scene opens with a view of the great Natural Bridge 
in Virginia. There are three or four lads standing in the 
channel below, looking up with awe to that vast arch of un- 
hewn rocks which the Almighty bridged over those ever- 



o40 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

lasting hutments, *'when the moruing stars sang together." 
The little piece of sky spanning those measureless piers is 
full of stars, although it is midday. It is almost five hun- 
dred feet from where they stand, up those perpendicular 
bulwarks of limestone to the key of that vast arch, which 
appears to them only of the size of a man's hand. The 
silence of death is rendered more impressive by the little 
stream that falls from rock to rock down the channel. The 
sun is darkened, and the boys have uncovered their heads, 
as if standing in the presence-chamber of the Majesty of the 
whole earth. At last this feeling begins to wear away; 
they look around them, and find that others have been there 
before them. They see the names of hundreds cut in the 
limestone hutments. A new feeling comes over their young 
hearts, and their knives are in their hands in an instant. 
*' What man has done, man can do," is their watchword, 
while they draw themselves up, and carve their name a foot 
above those of a hundred full-grown men who have been 
there before them. 

They are all satisfied with this feat of physical exertion, 
except one. This ambitious youth sees a name just above 
his reach — a name which will be green in the memory of the 
world when those of Alexander, Caesar, and Bonaparte shall 
rot in oblivion. It was the name of Washington. Before 
he marched with Braddock to that fatal field he had been 
there and left his name a foot above any of his predecessors. 
It was a glorious thought to write his name side by side with 
that of the Father of his Country. He grasps his knife with 
a firmer hand, and clinging to a little jutting crag, he cuts 
a niche into the limestone, about a foot above where he 
stands; he then reaches up and cuts another for his hands. 
'T is a dangerous adventure ; and, as he draws himself up 
carefully to his full length, he finds himself a foot above 
every name chronicled in that mighty wall. While his com- 
panions are regarding him with concern and admiration, he 
cuts his name in wide capitals, large and deep, into that 



DRAMATIC. 341 

flinty album. His knife is still in his hand, and strength in 
his sinews, and a new-created aspiration in his heart. Again 
he cuts another niche, and again he carves his name in larger 
capitals. This is not enough; heedless of the entreaties of 
his companions, he cuts and climbs again. He measures his 
length at every gain he cuts. The voices of his friends wax 
weaker and weaker, till their words are finally lost on his 
ear. He now for the first time casts a look beneath him. 
Had that glance lasted a moment more, that moment would 
have been his last. He clings with a convulsive shudder to 
his little niche in the rock. His knife is worn half-way to 
the haft. He can hear the voices of his terror-stricken com- 
panions below. What a moment ! what a meager chance to 
escape destruction! There is no retracing his steps. It is im- 
possible to put his hands into the same niche Avith his feet 
and retain his slender hold a moment. His companions 
instantly perceive this new and fearful dilemma. He is 
too high to ask for his father and mother, his brothers 
and sisters. But one of his companions anticipates his 
desire. Swift as the wind he bounds down the channel, 
and the situation of the fated boy is told upon his father's 
hearthstone. 

Minutes of almost eternal length roll on, and there are 
hundreds standing in that rocky channel and hundreds on 
the bridge above, all holding their breath, and awaiting the 
fearful catastrophe. The poor boy hears the hum of new and 
numerous voices, both above and below. He can just dis- 
tinguish the tones of his father, who is shouting with all the 
energy of despair : ''William! William! don't look down ! 
Your mother, and Henry and Harriet are all here praying 
for you ! Do n't look down ! Keep your eye toward the 
top ! " The boy did n't look down. His eye is fixed like a 
flint towards heaven, and his young heart on Him who reigns 
there. He grasps again his knife. He cuts another niche, 
and another foot is added to the hundreds that remove him 
from the reach of human help from below. How carefully 



342 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

he uses liis wasting blade! How anxiously be selects the 
softest places iu that vast pier ! How he avoids every flinty 
grain ! How he economizes his physical powers, resting a 
moment at each gain he cuts! How every motion is 
watched from below! There stand his father, mother, 
brother, and sister on the very spot where, if he falls, he 
will not fall alone. 

The sun is half-way down in the west. The lad has 
made fifty additional niches in that mighty wall. Fifty more 
must be cut before the longest rope can reach him. His 
wasting blade strikes again into the limestone. The boy is 
emerging painfully, foot by foot, from under that lofty arch. 
Spliced ropes are ready in the hands of those who are lean- 
ing over the outer edge of the bridge above. Two minutes 
more and all must be over. The blade is w^orn to the last 
half-inch. The boy's head reels; his eyes are starting from 
their sockets. His last hope is dying in his heart; his 
life must hang on the next gain he cuts. That niche is 
his last. 

At the last faint gash he makes, his knife — his faithful 
knife — falls from his little nerveless hand, and ringing along 
the precipice, falls at his mother's feet. An involuntary 
groan of despair runs like a death-knell through the channel 
below, and all is still as the grave. At the height of nearly 
three hundred feet the devoted boy lifts his hopeless heart, 
and closes his eyes to commend his soul to God. 

'Tis but a moment — there! one foot swings off — he is 
reeling — trembling — toppling over into eternity! Hark! a 
shout falls on his ear from above ! The man who is lying 
with half his length over the bridge has caught a glimpse 
of the boy's head and shoulders. Quick as thought the 
noosed rope is within reach of the sinking youth. With a 
faint, convulsive effort the swooning boy drops his arras into 
the noose. Darkness comes over him, and with the words 
God — mother — whispered on his lips just loud enough to be 
heard in heaven — the tightening rope lifts him out of his 



DRAMATIC. 343 

laststallow niche. Not a lip moves while he is dangling over 
that fearful abyss ; but when a sturdy Virginian reaches 
down and draws up the lad and holds him up in his arms 
before the tearful, breathless multitude, such shouting — such 
leaping and weeping for joj — never greeted the ear of a 
human being so recovered from the yawning gulf of eternity. 

ELIHU BUREITT. 



THE BELLS. 



ABRIDGED. 



Hear the sledges with the bells — 
Silver bells I 
"What a world of merriment their melod}' foretells! 
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, 

In the icy air of night ! 
While the stars that oversprinkle 
All the heavens seem to twinkle 
With a crystalline delight ; 
Keeping time, time, time, 
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells 
From the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
Bells, bells, bells— 
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. 

Hear the mellow wedding bells — 
Golden bells ! 
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells ! 
Through the balmy air of night 
How they ring out their delight 
From the molten-golden notes, 
And all in tune ! — 
0, from out the sounding cells. 
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells ! 
How it swells ! 
How it dwells 
On the future ! how it tells 
Of the rapture that impels 



344 ELOCUTION AND OR A TOR Y. 

To the swinging and the ringing 
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
Bells, bells, bells — 
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells I 

Hear the loud alarum bells — 
Brazen bells ! 
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells! 
In the startled ear of night 
How they scream out their afTright 
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, 
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire! 
Leaping higher, higher, higher. 
O, the bells, bells, bells! 
What a tale their terror tells 
Of despair! 
How they clang, and clash, and roar! 
What a horror they outpour 
On the bosom of the palpitating air! 
Yet the ear, it fully knows, 
By the twanging 
And the clanging, 
How the danger ebbs and flows; 
Yet the ear distinctly tells. 
In the jangling 
And the wrangling. 
How the danger sinks and swells, 
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells — 
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
Bells, bells, bells— 
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells! 

Hear the tolling of the bells — 
Iron bells ! 
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels! 
In the silence of the night, 
How we shiver with affright. 
At the melancholy menace of their tone! 
For every sound that floats 
From the rust within their throats 
Is a groan. 



DRAMATIC. 345 

And the people— ah, the people ! 
They that dwell up in the steeple, 

All alone, 
And who tolHng, tolling, tolling, 

In that muffled monotone. 
Feel a glory in so rolling 

On the human heart a stone. 
They are neither man nor woman ; 
Thej^ are neither brute nor human — 

They are ghouls: 
And their king it is who tolls ; 
And he rolls, rolls, rolls, 

Keeping time, time, time, 

To the throbbing of the bells — 

To the sobbing of the bells ; 

As he knells; knells, knells, — 

To the rolling of the bells, — 

To the tolling of the bells, 
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. 

EDGAR A. POE. 



THE LAST DAYS OF HKRCUI.ANKUM. 

There was a man, 
A Roman soldier, for some daring deed 
That trespassed on the laws, in dungeon low 
Chained down. His was a noble spirit, rough, 
But generous, and brave, and kind. 

He had a son ; it w^as a rosy boy, 

A little, faithful copy of his sire 

In face and gesture. From infancy the child 

Had been his father's solace and his care. 

Every sport 
The father shared and heightened. But at length 
The rigorous law had grasped him, and condemned 
To fetters and to darkness. 

The captive's lot 
He felt in all its bitterness ; the walls 
Of his deep dungeon answer'd many a sigh 



346 ELOCUTION AND OR A TORY. 

And heart-lieaved groan. His tale was known, and touched 

His jailer with compassion ; and the boy, 

Thenceforth a frequent visitor, beguiled 

His father's lingering hours, and brought a balm 

With his loved presence, that in every wound 

Dropped healing. 

But in this terrific hour 
He was a poisoned arrow in the breast 
Where he had been a cure- With earliest morn 
Of that first day of darkness and amaze, 
He came. The iron door was closed — for them 
Never to open more ! The day, the night, 
Dragged slowly by ; nor did they know the fate 
Impending o'er the city. 

AVell they heard 
The pent-up thunders in the earth beneath, 
And felt its giddy rocking; and the air 
Grew hot at length, and thick ; but in his straw 
The boy was sleeping; and the father hoped 
The earthquake might pass by ; nor would he wake 
From his sound rest the unfearing child, nor tell 
The dangers of their state. 

On his low couch 
The fettered soldier sank, and with deep awe, 
Listened to the fearful sounds. With upturned eye, 
To the great gods he breathed a prayer ; then strove 
To calm himself, and lose in sleep awhile 
His useless terrors. But he could not sleep ; 
His body burned with feverish heat; his chains 
Clanked loud, although he moved not; deep in earth 
Groaned unimaginable thunders ; sounds, 
Fearful and ominous, arose and died. 
Like the sad meanings of November's wind 
In the blank midnight. 

Deepest horror chilled 
His blood that burned before ; cold, clammy sweats 
Came o'er him ; then, anon, a fiery thrill 
Shot through his veins. Now on his couch he shrunk, 
And shivered as in fear; now upright leaped. 
As though he heard the battle-trumpet sound, 



DBA3fA TIC. 347 

And longed to cope with death. He slept at last — 
A troubled, dreamy sleep. Well had he slept 
Never to waken more ! His hours are few, 
But terrible his agony. 

Soon the storm 
Burst forth ; the lightnings glanced ; the air 
Shook with the thunders. They awoke ; they sprung 
Amazed upon their feet. The dungeon glowed 
A moment as in sunshine, and was dark ; 
Again, a flood of white flame fills the cell. 
Dying away upon the dazzled eye. 
In darkening, quivering tints, as stunning sound 
Dies, throbbing, ringing in the ear. Silence, 
And blackest darkness ! 

With intensest awe 
The soldier's frame was filled ; and many a thought 
Of strange foreboding hurried through his mind. 
As underneath he felt the fevered earth 
Jarring and lifting, and the massive walls 
Heard harshly grate and strain ; yet knew he not. 
While evils undefined and yet to come 

Glanced through his thoughts, what deep and cureless wound 
Fate had already given. 

Where, man of woe ! 
Where, wretched father, is thy boy? Thou call'st 
His name in vain: he can not answer thee. 

Loudly the father called upon his child: 

No voice replied. Trembling and anxiously 

He searched their couch of straw ; with headlong haste 

Trod round his stinted limits, and low bent. 

Groped darkling on the earth : no child was there. 

Again he called; again, at farthest stretch 

Of his accursed fetters, till the blood 

Seemed bursting from his ears, and from his eyes 

Fire flashed ; he strained, wdth arm extended far, 

And fingers widely spread, greedy to touch 

Though but his idol's garment. 

Useless toil ! 
Yet still renew^ed ; still round and round he goes. 
And strains, and snatches, and with dreadful cries 



348 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

Calls on his boy. Mad frenzy fires him now: 
He i)lants against the wall his feet; his chain 
Grasps; tnj^s with giant strength to foree away 
The deep-driven staple ; yells and shrieks with raget 
And, like a desert lion in the snare, 
Kaging to break his toils, to and fro bounds. 
But see! the ground is opening; a blue light 
Mounts, gently waving, noiseless; thin and cold 
Tt seems, and like a rainbow-tint, not flame ; 
V>\\i by its luster, on the earth outstretched, 
Behold the lifeless child ! His dress is singed ; 
And o'er his face serene a darkened line 
Points out the lightning's track. 

The father saw, 
And all his fury fled; a dead calm fell 
That i'nstant on him; speechless, fixed, he stood; 
And, with a look that never wandered, gazed 
Intensely on the corse. Those laughing eyes 
Were not yet closed; and round those rul)y lips 
The wonted smile returned. 

Silent and pale 
The father stands ; no tear is in his eye ; 
The thunders bellow, but he hears them not; 
The ground lifts like a sea, — he knows it not; 
The strong walls grind and gape; the vaulted roof 
Takes shapes like bubbles tossing in the wind. 
See ! he looks up and smiles ; for death to him 
Is happiness. Yet could one last embrace 
Be given, 't were still a sweeter thing to die. 

It will be given. Look! how the rolling ground, 
At every swell, nectrer and still more near, 
Moves toward his father's outstretched arms his boy. 
Once he has touched his garment; how his eye 
Lightens with love, and hope, and anxious fears! 
Ha! See! he has him now! he clasps him round, 
Kisses his face, puts back the curling locks 
That shaded his line brow ; looks in his eyes, — 
Grasps in his own those little dimpled hands; 
Then folds him to his breast, as he was wont 
To lie when sleeping, and resigned awaits 
Undreaded death. 



DRAMATIC. 349 

And death came soon, and swift, 
\nd pangless. The huge pile sank down at once 
nto tlie opening earth. Walls — arches — roof — 
Vnd deep foundation-stones — all — mingling— fell ! 

EDWIN ^THEHTON. 



THE DUMB SAVIOR. 

[abridged.] 

Ho, ^loRO ! Moro, my dog, where are yon ? 

Moro ! He has gone ! He has left me — 

The last, the only friend. Forsaken by him — 

By the one living thing thftt clung to me 

When the storm stripped my life, who followed me 

Through cold, and hunger, and wild, weary tramp 

On the bleak highways. So, at last he 's gone ! 

Lured by the smell of Athol's savory meats, 

The warmth of Athol's hearth. 

An hour ago. 
When I met Athol yonder in the street, 
He said with insolent pity in his look : 
" Sell me that dog. He taxes you too sore 
To feed him. Here's his price." 

Sell you my dog! 
Sell you the one thing that keeps alive in me 
A spark of trust in any thing on earth ? 
Never ! Your gold has bought all that was mine — 
My lands, my home, my friends, my promised bride. 
It can not buy my dog ! He would not go ! 
Your chains could never hold him ! He Avould leave 
Your juicy meats to come and share my crust. 
Put up your gold ! It can not buy my dog. 
" We '11 see," he said, and turned upon his heel — 
The low-born insolent ! His gold had bought 
My old proud home, my flattering friends, the graves 
Of my dead sires ; ay, even her, my love. 
With eyes as blue as heaven, as full of truth 
(I would have sworn so once) as heaven of stars. 
How I loved her! How I trusted her! 
How her voice thrilled me on that summer night 
When, with her hand in mine, she said : 



350 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

" I love you not 
For laurels or for gold, but for yourself, 
Your own proud manhood, and your faithful heart." 
These were her words. Just Heaven, that lips so fair 
Could utter words so false ! Not care for gold ! 
'T w^as all she eared for. When it was swept away, 
Her love went with it. All my faith went, too ; 
And whelmed in black despair I fled the place. I cried 
" I stand nlone, with not one living thing 
To care what doom despair may drive me to." 
But as I spoke a soft head touched my knee, 
A warm tongue lapped my hand. Dumb sympathy 
Of the poor brute ! My faithful dog had broke 
His chain to follow me. 

My faithful dog! 
Ha, ha ! There is no faith in man or beast 
Upon this hollow globe. My dog is gone. 
Yonder in Athol's home that once was mine, 
He followed him, lured by his bait of food. 
The craven-hearted wretch ! True, he was starved, 
But so am 1. Yet I spurned Athol's gold, 
Offered as a price for him, We'l, he is gone ! 
Why did I come back here ? I know too well. 
I came, poor fool, to look upon t4ie ground 
Her footsteps pressed. Perchance she loved me still? 
Perchance I 'd find her pale of cheek and pined 
With weeping for the outcast she still loved? 
Ah, fool ! Why, never in the days gone by, 
Did her cheek blossom with so rich a rose 
As glowed on it to-night. How proud she looked 
In those far-trailing robes of moonlit silk ; 
The rubies glittering on the foam- white hand 
That lay on Athol's arm ! She did not see me. 
He saw me! Athol, proud, triumphant Athol, 
Who told me that I had no bread to feed 
My dog, awhile before. He knew me now ! 
He bent his head and whispered in her ear. 
And broke into a mocking laugh, while she 
Arched her white neck and smiled with scorn-curved lips. 
Hark to the music ! She is dancing nov/. 
How the tall windows blaze ! Fair forms flash by. 
Whirling like brilliant blossoms in the mad 



DRAMATIC. 351 

Maelstrom of melody. Yes, they dance! They feast! 

My dog feasts yonder in the halls 

My proud ancestors reared. And I — I stand 

Beneath the mocking stars and freezing skies, 

Deserted, friendless, gnawed by hunger pangs. 

Curses on them ! If there be a hell — 

When earth is hell enough — I 'd brave its fires 

A thousand years for leave to crush them. 

And make them suffer as I suffer now. 

Why should I suffer? There's one refuge still: 

When life grows torture we can shake it off. 

Death beckons us with shadowy hand, and points 

To the abyss of nothingness and rest. 

Rest ! Is it rest ? What if the fever-dream 

Of life goes on beyond the grave? 

It is too mad a doubt. The dead are dead. 

The hour for dotard's dream is past ! 

And yet my mother's prayers, her cradle hymns — 

Away, these memories ! They shall not hold me back 

From the abyss of death, let death be wdiat it may. 

Here I hold the key to its mysteries. 

This solves the doubt; this breaks the fever-dream ; 

This lays a palsying spell on blood and limb 

And burning brain— and lo ! the wild dream is done. 

Scorn, poverty, cold, hunger are no more. 

No more keen pangs when friends prove treacherous, 

Whenever the bst dumb friend forsakes. 

Dance on ! feast on! I shall not heed you now. 

Stare at me, mystic heaven, in cold rebuke ; 

Safe sits your God on high. 

Tracing the shining paths of whirling worlds. 

What cares he for one burning human heart ? 

Yet he gives death. It is the best he gives. 

For this I thank him, and I greet thee — Death, 

Dark essence of the poppy, kiss my lips, 

And steal their breath forever. Earth, farewell. 

Ha! What is this? Who dares to grasp my arm? 

Moro, my dog! Have you come back, my dog? 

Come back from Athol's food and fire to me ? 

Why do you pluck my sleeve ? 

What is this you've laid here at my feet? 

Why, bread! You 've brought me bread? 



352 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

'T was for this you left me, then ? 

You sought to save me, and I thought — I thought— 

Forgive me, Moro. 1 Iiave wronged you, dog. 

What if I 've wronged my fellow-men as well ! 

If there 's such depth of love 

And sacrificing pity in a brute. 

Can man be w^holly cmIIous? I will hope. 

My dog, you have saved me. I will live; nay more, 

I will shake off this lethargy of despair; 

This spell of the Demon Drink, that bade me 

Drown my woe in its accursed nepenthe. 

From this hour that chain is broken. 

Faith and hope come back 

Like a bright flood of sunshine. 

No, my dog, you would have died with me ; 

You shall not starve. 

Here we will share this bread as sacrament. 

For this my pledge : By yon far-shining stars, 

And by my mother's grave on yonder hill. 

And by your dumb yet faithful love, my friend, 

I will not sink in numbing gloom again. 

Upon the ruins of the past 1 '11 build the future fabric. 

I will hope, trust, work, and win once more 

A place among my fellow-men. mary e. bryan. 



RIZPAH. 



The long, bright day of harvest toil is past, 

The fragrant sheaves are bound, the reapers gone; 

Slowly from out the west the yellow rays 

Of ripening sunshine die, hushed song and jest; 

And from the sacrifice by priestly hands 

Sweet, spicy incense, like a voiceless prayer, 

Floats upon perfumed wings to Mercy's throne. 

Down cloudy pathway walks the coming night. 

Casting mysterious shadows in her way — 

Shadows that fill each sense with vague alarm, 

More frightful for their very nothingness. 

Look! how the shrinking moon creeps up the skies. 

Holding with trembling hand her silver lamp, 



DRAMATIC. 353 

Hiding her face behind a filmy veil, 
As if she dared not look upon the sight 
Of the dread something which her light reveals. 
See! see! On Gibeah's Hill, what phantoms rise, 
Swinging ^nd swaying idly to and fro, 
Against the mantle of the startled night, 
Like nameless terrors creeping through a dream ! 
Great God ! these shapes are men ! 
Men — with stony eyeballs looking down. 
Soulless and lifeless, into other eyes — 
Eyes full of mother-love gone mad with woe ; 
Rizpah, her poor, gray tresses all unbound, 
Each nerve and muscle held by mighty will. 
Fearless in all her agony of love, 
Guarding her precious dead against the vultures. 
And look how^ grief and dread have marked her face 
With awful lines of passionate despair! 
Hark! how the frenzied voice disturbs the night! 
"Back! back! ye shall not touch one shining hair, 
Nor fan the poor, dead cheeks with poisonous wings. 
A mother watches o'er her precious sons- 
Mine own! mine own! why, alas! do I, . 
Still cumber earth's fair ways, wliile ye must die 
In all the strength of manhood's lusty glow ? 
My sons! my sons! 

patient God ! was ever sight like this ? 
Is it a dream? Still I wake, erewhile 

Wake to their living glance, and touch, and smile. 
They were my babes once ; they used to lie 
Cooing sweet answers to the lullaby 

1 sang to put them to their cradle rest. 
Listen ! upon the night-winds, clear and low, 
Come fragments of that song of long ago. 

'T was thus I sung — a foolish little strain; 
Yet babes and mothers love such music well ; 
E'en now its cadence soothes my restless brain. 
I think I hear the angels sing it ; who can tell ? 
My children loved it so in twilight gray. 
'Tis twilight now. Alas! and where are they? 
Listen: 

'Sleep! sleep! the south-wind blows; 

Bluebell and baby, bee and rose ; 
30 



354 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

The tide ebbs, the tide flows; 
Niglit coines, but night goes, — 
Sleep ! sleep! ' " 
Thus night and day her wild, sad watch went on, 
And none could win her from her loving task. 
At last the barley-sheaves were gathered home ; 
And once again the dry skies rained soft tears, 
As if in sorrow for lier tearless woe, 
And pitying Heaven made man more pitiful. 
King David's heart grew tender at the sight; 
And, filled with wonder at her mighty love, 
He took her precious dead with reverent hands, 
Enfolded them with costly cerements, 
And gave them sepulcher with kindred dust. 
Then Rizpah's work was finished. She arose, 
Folded her sackcloth tent and went her way, 
Down through the valley to her childless home; 
Poor, waiting Rizpah ! 
After many days death came to her. 
How slowly does he come when hearts are breaking— 
And are waiting to break — 
As if he- grudged the comfort of a grave! 
*T was twilight in the harvest-time again ; 
She seemed to slumber, when she clasped her arms, 
As if Khe held a baby at her breast, 
And sung this fragment of a cradle-song: 

"Sleep! the south-wind softly blows; 

The tide ebbs, the tide flows; 

Night comes, but night goes, — 
Sleep! sleep!" 
Then Rizpah slept. lucy blinn. 



THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. 

'TwAS in the prime of summer time. 

An evening calm and cool. 
And four-and-twenty happy boys 

Came bounding out of school; 
There were some that ran, and some that leapt 

Like troutlets in a pool. 



DRAMATIC. 355 

Away they sped with gamesome minds, 

And souls untouched by sin ; 
To a level mead they came, and there 

They drave the wickets in. 
Pleasantly shone the setting sun 

Over the town of Lynn. 

Like sportive deer they coursed about, 

And shouted as they ran. 
Turning to mirth all things of earth, 

As only boyhood can ; 
But the usher sat remote from all, 

A melancholy man! 

His hat was off, his vest apart, 

To catch heaven's blessed breeze; 
For a burning thought was in his brow, 

And his bosom ill at ease; 
So he leaned his head on his hands, and read 

The book between his knees ! 

Leaf after leaf he turned it o'er, 

Nor ever glanced aside; 
For the peace of his soul he read that book 

In the golden eventide; 
Much study had made him very lean, 

And pale, and leaden-eyed. 

At last he shut the ponderous tome ; 

With a fast and fervent grasp 
He strained the dusky covers close, 

And fixed the brazen hasp: 
" O God, could I so close my mind, 

And clasp it with a clasp! " 

Then leaping on his feet upright. 

Some moody turns he took; 
Now up the mead, then dow^n the mead, 

And past a shady nook ; 
And lo ! he saw a little boy 

That pored upon a book ! 

" My gentle lad, what is 't you read — 
Romance or fairy fable? 



356 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

Or is it some historic page 

Of kings and crowns unstable?" 

Tlie young boy gave an upward glance — 
"It is 'The Death of Abel.'" 

The usher took six hasty strides, 
As smit with sudden pain; 

Six hasty strides beyond the place, 
Then slowly back again ; 

And down he sat beside tlie lad, 
And talked with him of Cain. 

He told how murderers walked tlie earth, 
Beneath the curse of Cain — 

With crimson clouds before their eyes, 
And flames about their brain ; 

For blood has left upon their souls 
Its everlasting stain ! 

"And well," quoth he, "I know, for truth, 
Their pangs must be extreme — 

Woe, woe, unutterable woe — 

Who spill life's sacred stream ! 

For why? Methought last niglit, I wrought 
A murder in a dream ! 

One that had never done me wrong — 

A feeble man, and old — 
I led him to a lonely field ; 

The moon shone clear and cold ; 
Now here, said I, this man shall die. 

And I will have his gold ! 
Two sudden blows with a ragged stick, 

And one with a heavy stone, 
One hurried gash with a hasty knife — 

And then the deed was done; 
There was nothing lying at my foot, 

But lifeless flesh and bone ! 

Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone. 

That could not do me ill ; 
And yet I feared him all the more 

For lying there so still ; 
There was a manhood in his look 

That murder could not kill ! 



DRAMATIC. 357 

And lo ! the universal air 

Seemed lit with ghastlj^ flame; 
Ten thousand thousand dreadful eyes, 

Were looking down in blame : 
I took the dead man by the hand, 

And called upon his name ! 

God ! it made me quake to see 

Such sense within the slain ! 
But when I touched the lifeless clay, 

The blood gushed out amain ! 
For every clot a burning spot 

Was scorching in my brain ! 

And now from forth the frowning sky, 
From the heaven's topmost height, 

1 heard a voice — the awful voice 

Of the blood-avenging sprite: 

* Thou guilty man ! take up thy dead. 

And hide it from my sight ! ' 

I took the dreary body up, 

And cast it in a stream — 
A sluggish water, black as ink. 

The depth was so extreme. 
My gentle boy, remember this 

Is nothing but a dream ! 

Down went the corse with a hollow plunge. 

And vanished in the pool ; 
Anon I cleansed my bloody hands, 

And washed my forehead cool ; 
And sat among the urchins young, 

That evening in the school ! 

heaven ! to think of their white souls, 

And mine so black and grim ! 

1 could not share in childish prayer. 

Nor join in evening hymn : 
Like a devil of tlie pit I seemed, 

'Mid holy cherubim ! 
And Peace went with them one and all, 

And each calm pillow spread ; 
But Guilt was my grim chamberlain 

That lighted me to bed. 



358 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY, 

And drew my midnight curtains round, 
With fingers bloody red ! 

All niglit I lay in agony, 

From weary chime to chime, 

With one besetting horrid hint, 
That racked me all the time — 

A mighty yearning, like the first 
Fierce impulse unto crime ! 

One stern tyrannic thought that made 
All other thoughts its slave; 

Stronger and stronger every pulse 
Did that temptation crave — 

Still urging me to go and see 
The dead man in his grave! 

Heavily I rose up — as soon 
As light was in the sky — 

And sought the black, accursed pool 
With a wild, misgiving eye ; 

And I saw the dead in the river bed, 
For the faithless stream was dry. 

Merrily rose the lark, and shook 
The dew-drop from its wing; 

But I never marked its morning flight, 
I never heard it sing ; 

For I was stooping once again 
Under the horrid thing. 

With breathless speed, like a soul in chase, 

I took him up and ran. 
There was no time to dig a grave 

Before the day began ; 
In a lonesome wood, Avith heaps of leaves, 

I hid the murdered man ! 

And all that day I read in school, 
But my thought- was otherwhere ; 

As soon as the midday task was done, 
In secret I was there : 

And a mighty wind had swept the leaves, 
And still the corse was bare ! 



DRAMATIC. ' 359 

Then down I cast me on my face, 

And first began to weep, 
For I knew my secret then was one 

That earth refused to keep ; 
Or land or sea, though he should be 

Ten thousand fathoms deep ! 

O God ! that horrid, horrid dream 

Besets me now awake ! 
Again, again, with dizzy brain, ^ 

The human life I take ; 
And my red right hand grows raging hot, 

Like Cranmer's at the stake. 

And still no peace for the restless clay 

Will wave or mcMd allow ; 
The horrid thing pursues my soul — 

It stands before me now ! " 
The fearful boy looked up, and saw 

Huge drops upon his brow ! 

That very night, while gentle sleep 

The urchin's eyelids kissed. 
Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn, 

Through the cold and heavy mist ; 
And Eugene Aram walked between. 

With gyves upon his wrist. 

HOOD. 



CURFEW MUST NOT RING TO-NIGHT. 

England's sun was slowly setting o'er the hills so far away, 
Filling all the land with beauty at the close of one sad day; 
And the last rays kissed the forehead of a man and maiden fair ; 
He with step so slow and weakened, she with sunny, floating hair ; 

He with sad bowed head, and thoughtful, she with lips so cold 

and white, - 
Struggling to keep back the mxirmur, " Curfew must not ring 

to-night." 
" Sexton," Bessie's white lips faltered, pointing to the prison old. 
With its walls so dark and gloomy — walls so dark and damp and 

cold— 



360* ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

" I 've a lover in that prison, doomed this very niglit to die 

At the ringing of the curfew, and no earthly help is nigh. 

Cromwell will not come till sunset," and her face grew strangely 
white, 

As she spoke in husky whispers: "Curfew must not ring to- 
night." 

"Bessie," calmly spoke the sexton — every word pierced her 
young heart 

Like a thousand gleaming arrows, like a deadly poisoned dart — 

" Long, long years I 've rung the curfew from that gloomy shad- 
owed tower 

Every evening, just at sunset, it has told the twilight hour. 

I have done my duty ever, tried to do it just and right ; 
Now I'm old I will not miss it; girl, the curfew rings to-night!" 
Wild her eyes and pale her features, stern and white her 

thoughtful brow. 
And within her heart's deep center, Bessie made a solemn vow. 

She had listened while the judges read, without a tear or sigh, 
"At the ringing of the curfew Basil Underwood must die." 
And her breath came fast and faster, and her eyes grew large 

and bright — 
One low murmur, scarcely spoken — " Curfew must not ring to- 
night!" 

She with light step bounded forward, sprang within the old 

church door, 
Left the old man coming slowly paths he 'd trod so oft before; 
Not one moment paused the maiden, but with cheek and brow 

aglow, 
Staggered up the gloomy tower, where the bell swung to and 

fro. 

Then she climbed the slimy ladder, dark, without one ray of 
light, 

Upward still, her pale lips saying: "Curfew shall not ring to- 
night." 

She has reached the topmost ladder, o'er her hangs the great 
dark bell. 

And the awful gloom beneath her, like the pathway down to 
hell. 



DRAMATIC. 361 

See, the ponderous tongue is swinging, 'tis the hour of curfew 

now, 
And the sight has chilled her bosom, stopped her breath and 

paled her brow. 
Shall she let it ring? No, never! her eyes flash with sudden 

light, 
As she springs and grasps it firmly — " Curfew shall not ring 
to-night ! " 

Out she swung, far out, the city seemed a tiny speck below ; 
There, twixt heaven and earth suspended, as the bell swung to 

and fro; 
And the half-deaf sexton ringing (years he had not heard the 

bell), 
And he thought the twilight curfew rang young Basil's funeral 

knell. 

Still the maiden clinging firmly, cheek and brow so pale and 

white, 
Stilled her frightened heart's wild beating — " Curfew shall not 

ring to-night ! " 
It was o'er — the bell ceased swajdng, and the maiden stepped 

once more 
Firmly on the damp old ladder, where for hundred years before 

Human foot had not been planted ; and what she this night had 

done 
Should be told in long years after. As the rays of setting sun 
Light the sky with mellow beauty, aged sires with heads of white 
Tell their children why the curfew did not ring that one sad 

night. 

O'er the distant hills came Cromwell. Bessie saw him, and her 

brow. 
Lately white with sickening terror, glows with sudden beauty 

now. 
At his foot she told her story, showed her hands all bruised and 

torn ; 
And her sweet young face so haggard, with a look so sad and 

worn, 
Touched his heart with sudden pity — lit his eyes with misty 

light; 
" Go, your lover lives ! " cried Cromwell ; '* curfew shall not ring 

to-night." ANONYMOUS. 

31 



362 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

THE FIREMAN'S PRAYER. 

It was in the gray of the early morning, in the season of 
Lent. Broad Street, from Fort Hill to State Street, was 
crowded with hastening worshipers, attendants on early mass. 
Maidens, matrons, boys, and men jostled and hurried on 
toward the churches; some with countenances sincerely sad, 
others with apparent attempts to appear in accord with the 
somber season ; while many thoughtless and careless ones 
joked and chatted, laughed and scuffled along in the hurry- 
ing multitude. Suddenly a passer-by noticed tiny wreaths 
and puffs of smoke starting from the shingles of the roof 
upon a large warehouse. The great structure stood upon 
the corner, silent, bolted, and teuantless; and all the win- 
dows, save a small round light in the upper story, were 
closely and securely covered with heavy shutters. Scarcely 
had the smoke been seen by one, when others of the crowd 
looked up in the same direction, and detected the unusual 
occurrence. Then others joined them, and still others fol- 
lowed, until a swelling multitude gazed upward to the roof, 
over which the smoke soon hung like a fog; while from 
eaves and shutter of the upper story, little jets of black 
smoke burst suddenly out into the clear morning air. Then 
came a flash, like the lightning's glare, through the frame of 
the little gable window, and then another ; brighter, ghastlier, 
and more prolonged. '* Fire ! " " Fire ! " screamed the throng, 
as, moved by a single impulse, they pointed with excited 
gestures toward the window. Quicker than the time it takes 
to tell, the cry reached the corner, and was flashed on mes- 
senger wires to tower and steeple, engine and hose-house, 
over the then half-sleeping city. Great bells with ponderous 
tongues repeated the cry with long strokes; little bells, with 
sharp and spiteful clicks, recited the news; while half-con- 
scious firemen, watching through the long night, leaped upon 
engines and hose-carriages, and rattled into the street. 

Soon the roof of the burning warehouse was drenched 



DRAMATIC, 363 

with floods of water, poured upon it from the hose of many 
engines ; while the surging multitude in Broad Street had 
grown to thousands of excited spectators. The engines 
puffed and hooted ; the engineers shouted; the hook-and-l^dder 
boys clambered upon roof and cornice, shattered the shut- 
ters, and burst in the doors. But the wooden structure was 
a seething furnace throughout all its upper portion ; while 
the water and ventilation seemed only to increase its power 
and fury. 

** Come down ! Come down ! Off that roof! Come out 
of that building!" shouted an excited man in the crowd, 
struggling with all his power in the meshes of the solid mass 
of men, women, and children in the street. '' Come down ! 
For God's sake, come down ! The rear store is filled with 
barrels of powder ! " 

"Powder! Powder!" screamed the engineer through 
his trumpet. "Powder!" shouted the hosemen. "Pow- 
der!" called the brave boys on roof and cornice. "Pow- 
der!" answered the trumpet of the chief. "Powder!" 
"Powder!" "Powder!" echoed the men in the burning 
pile ; and from ladder, casement, window, roof, and cornice, 
leaped terrified firemen with pale faces and terror-stricken 
limbs. 

" Push back the crowd ! " " Run for your lives ! Run ! 
Run ! Run ! " roared the trumpets. 

But, alas ! the crowd was dense, and spread so far through 
cross streets and alleys, that away on the outskirts, through 
the shouts of men, the whistling of the engines, and the roar 
of the heaven-piercing flames, the orders could not be heard. 
The frantic beings in front, understanding their danger, 
pressed wildly back. The firemen pushed their engines and 
their carriages against the breasts of the crowd ; but the 
throng moved not. So densely packed was street and square, 
and so various and deafening the noises, that the army of 
excited spectators in the rear still pressed forward with irre- 
sistible force, unconscious of danger, and regarding any out- 



364 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

cry as a mere ruse to disperse them for convenience' sake. 
The great mass swayed and heaved like the waves of the 
sea ; but beyond the terrible surging of those in front, whose 
heart-rending screams half drowned the whistles, there was 
no sign of retreat. As far as one could see, the streets were 
crowded with living human flesh and blood. 

''My God! My God!" said the engineer in despair. 
"What can be done? Lord have mercy on us all! What 
can be done?" 

"What can be done? I'll tell you what can be done," 
said one of Boston's firemen, whose hair was not yet sprinkled 
with gray. " Yes, bring out that powder! And 1 'm the 
man to do it. Better one man perish than perish all. Fol- 
low me with the water, and, if God lets me live long enough, 
I'll have it out." 

Perhaps, as the hero rushed into the burning pile, into a 
darkness of smoke and a withering heat, he thought of the 
wife and children at home, of the cheeks he had kissed in 
the evening, of the cheerful good-bye of the prattling ones, 
and the laugh as he gave the "last tag;" for as he rushed 
from the hoseman, who tied the handkerchief over his mouth, 
he muttered : " God care for my little ones when I am 
gone." Away up through smoke and flame and cloud to 
the heights of heaven's throne, ascended that prayer, "God 
care for my little ones when I am gone," and the Mighty 
Father and the Loving Son heard the fireman's petition. 

Into the flame of the rear store rushed the hero, and 
groping to the barrels, rolled them speedily into the alley, 
where surged the stream from the engines; rushing back 
and forth with power superhuman, in the deepest smoke, 
while iron darts flashed by him in all directions, penetrating 
the walls, and piercing the adjacent buildings. But as if his 
heroic soul was an armor-proof, or a charm impenetrable, 
neither harpoon nor bomb, crumbling timbers nor showers 
of flaming brands, did him aught of injury, beyond the 
scorching of his hair and eyebrow^s, and the blistering of his 



DIALECT. 365 

hands and face. 'T was a heroic deed. Did ever field of 
battle, wreck, or martyrdom, show a braver? No act in all 
the list of song and story, no self-sacrifice in the history of 
the rise and fall of empires, was nobler than that, save one, 
and then the Son of God himself hung bleed iug on the cross. 

KUSSELL H. CONWELL. 



DIALECT. 



BRUDDER JOHN'S VISION. 



On a wa'm spring mo'n, as de sun shine bright, 

An' de doo on de grass dat fell in de night, 

AVas a sparkeliii' tine like de shinin' oah. 

Or a million gems, or a million mo', 

I jess sot up, in de ole a'm cheah, 

A t'inkin' ob de t'ings dat seem so queah ; 

How de wo'ld w'ich looks as do it wos flat, 

Is as ronn' as de rim ob my ole felt hat ; 

How de sun stair still, an' de yea'th go 'roun'. 

An' a lot mo' fax dat de men hab foun', — 

Wen I heerd a noise, a ru=;selin' nigh, 

An' I sees a face wid a wicked eye, 

An' it look so wil', an' it got so neah, 

Dat my nees jess shook, Mid a awful feah, 

An' I triz to speak, an' I felt so poah, 

Dat I hel' to de cheah, an' I clung to de floah. 

Say, who can yo' be, an' why is yo' cum, 

An' what duz yo' want so fah from hum ? 

Den I heerd him call: "Mass'r, cum wid me," 

In a meller voice wid a tinge ob glee ; 

Den I heerd a laff, as sho as you 'se bo'n. 

An' I heerd a soun' like a' ole tin ho'n. 



" I can 't ax yo' in, for I 'ze jess goin' out," 
I w^as jess 'bout to say, or jess 'bout to shout, 
Wen up step't de man a-front ob my face 



366 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

An' he liff his hat, wid a heap ob grace. 

An' I saw two ho'ns in de sides ob his head, 

An' at sight ob dem, I was nearly dead. 

** I 'spoze, Mass'r John, yo' recumnize me, 

An I tells yo' now, yo 'z bin on a spree." 

I felt awful sick, an' thot ob a prah. 

An' I wish jess den dat I was n' jess dah! 

So a shakin' bad, 'do a lookin' bol', 

1 sed to de Debbie, " You 'ze a cochin' 00!'; 

It am a big change a comin' up heah, 

Dis climit won't 'gree wid de Debbie, I feah. 

If any thing should hap'n to de Debbie anyhow, 

De fiah mout go out, for de Debbie I 'low. 

III. 
De Debbie turn a' look d'reckly in my eye — 
*' Mass'r John won't be chilly, in de sweet by 'n by." 
Den I brace up a little, an' I stood my groun' : 
" Do n't you feel kinder odd, a roamin' heah 'roun' ? 
Dah ain't many folk in dis heah pa't 
Dat lubs de Debbie wid de whole ob de hea't." 
De Debbie he lafF at de noos I sed. 
An' rub his ban's on his ho'ny hed. 
" Let me tell, Uncle John, how I make success; 
It is wuth yo' while fo' to heah, I guess : 
Moses clum de Mount, from de Sinai plane, 
An' de Hebrews tho't ez he 'd cum again. 
Dar woz Aaron's God ob de preshus stuff, 
An' tho' it could 'n heah, it dun well a 'nuflf. 
Wen Mose' got back, he woz mity mad. 
An' he smashed de God dat de peop'l had. 
An' den I woz 'roun' an' I shook an' laflf 
An' I pick up bits ob de gol'n caff. 
So, ebbah sence den, ef I wants a soul 
I gibs him a bit ob de God ob gol'." 

IV. 

" How cum yo', Debbie, to be as yo' is? " 
Den he stood strai't up, an' hiz eyebrows riz. 
An' his words woz hot, as he hipsed at me. 
An' dey felt like de sting ob de bumble-bee. 
He got tearin' mad, an' he spun all 'roun', 
An' de banjo he had, he smash on de groun', 



DIALECT. 367 

An' he sed in his heat, in tones ob a bah : 
" I'll tell Mass'r John how I cum down dah. 
Wil walkin' on de wall, one moonshiny night, 
A meditatin' deep on de 'rong an' de right, 
A mob ob de angels da' brush me off de wall, 
An' dat 'splains de how ob dis angel's fall. 
An' ebber since den, I'ze felt kinder ril'd ; 
An' many is de plan ob de Lord I 'ze spil'd ; 
An' many mo' I'll spile befo' I 'ze dun, 
An' dat is de wa' de Debbie hab fun." 



You orter seen de Debbie, w'en I spoke ob sin ! 
He went floppin' 'roun', an' he gabe up his grin ; 
He drop on de grass, an' his face turn' pale. 
Den I felt sartin' sure he was dead as a nail ; 
But I foun' I 'ze 'rong. as de Debbie spoke, 
Tho' de words cum slow, an' he seem to choke. 
I do n't min' to halt jess heah fo' to say ; 
Dar am lots who preach, itn' am lots who pray, 
Dat de Debbie will git as suah as yo' be : 
Good 'nuff for you, an' 'nuff so fo' me. 

VI. 

Now ole Mass'r Debbie, I 'ze heerd you blow ; 

Now I 'ze standin' up fo' to let yo' know 

Dat de worl' ain't yo's, an' nebber will be ! 

You may git a few, but you won' git me. 

Den I grab a chunk from de pile cluss by, 

An' I flung it hard at de Debbie's eye. 

It went mighty fas' a flyin' froo de yah, 

But did 'n' hit de Debbie, kase de Debbie was n' dah. 

Wid a' awful howl, de Debbie disappea'd. 

An' I guess fo' wuns, dat de Debbie was skee'd. 

But I felt mighty bad as I heerd a soun' 

A comin' rite up frum out ob de groun' : 

" Good-bye, Mass'r John, I make yo' a bet, 

If yo' do n' watch out de Debbie koch yo' j^et." 

An'. I woke right up, as I heer dis shout: 

" Say, de breakfas' reddy, Massa John, git out." 

O, wasn' I glad fo' to heah dat pcream ! 

An' fin' it was nufiin but a niggah's dream. 

REVISED BY VIRGIL A. PINKLEY. 



368 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 



THK FUNKRAI,. 

I WAS walking in Savannah 

Past a church decayed and dim, 
When there slowly through the window 

Came a plaintive funeral hymn ; 
And a sympathy awakened, 

And a wonder quickly grew, 
Till I found myself environed 

In a little negro x^ew. 

Up at front a colored couple 

Sat in sorrow almost wild ; 
On the altar was a coffin, 

In the coffin was a child. 
I could picture him when living — 

Curly hair, p^rotruding lip ; 
And had seen perhaps a thousand 

In my hurried Southern trip. 

But no baby ever rested 

In the soothing arms of death, 
That had fanned more flames of sorrow 

With its little fluttering breath ; 
And no funeral ever glistenecl 

With more sympathy profound, 
Than was seen within the tear-drops 

In the eyes of those around. 

Rose a sad old colored preacher 

At a little wooden desk, 
With a manner grandly awkward, 

With a countenance grotesque, 
And he said : " Now don' be weepin' 

Fo' dis little bit o' clay ; 
Fo' de little boy dat libed dah, 

He dun gone an' run away. 

He was doin' berry finely, 

En' he 'presheate your lub ; 

But his shoah 'nuff Faddah want him 
In de big house up abub. 



DIALECT. 369 

Now he did n' gib you dat baby 

By a hundred tousand mile 
He jess tink you need some sunshine 

En' he len' him fo' a while 
En' he let you keep en' lub him 

Till yo' hahts was bigger grown, 
En' dese silbah tears you 'se sheddin' 

Is jess de interes' on de loan. 

Heah 's yo' udder pretty cheelen ; 

Don' be makin' it appeah 
Dat yo' lub got saht o' 'nopoiized 

On dis little fellow heah ! 
Don' pile up too much yo' sah'o 

On dah little mental shelbes, 
So 's to kindah set em wonderin' 

If da's no account demselbes. 

Jess you 'tink, you poah deah mo'nahs 

Creepin' 'long oah saho's way, 
What a blessed little picnic 

Dis yah baby 's got to-day. 
Yoah good faddahs an' good muddahs 

Crowd de little fellow roun' 
In the angel-tended gahden 

Ob de big plantazhun groun' ! 

En' da ask him : 'Was yoah feet soah?' 

En' take off his little shoes, 
En' da' wash him en' da' kiss him, 

En' da' say : ' Now what 's de nooz ? ' 
Den de Lawd dun loose his tongue, 

Den de little fellow say : 
'All our folks down in de valley 

Tries to keep de heabenly way.' 

En' his eyes da' brightly spa'kle 

At de pretty tings he view. 
Den a teah come en' he whisper — 

* But I want my pah'yents too.' 
Den de angel chief moosishan 

Teach dat boy a little song, 



370 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

Says : * If only da' be fait'f iil 

Da' will soon be eomin' 'long.' 

'En' he'll get an eddication 

Dat'll proberbly be wo'th 
Seberal times as much as any 

You could gib hira heah on yar'th. 
He '11 be in the Lawd's big school-house 

Widout no contempt ah feah, 
While dah's no end to de bad tings 

Might hab happened to him heah. 

So, my poah dejected mo'nahs, 

Let yo' hahts wid Jesus ress, 
En' don' go ter critercizin' 

Dat ah Wun wat knows de bess. 
He hab gib us many comforts, 

He hab right to take away. 
To de Lawd be praise en' glory 

Now and ebber. Let us pray." 

WILL CAKLETON. 



UNCLE DANIEL'S APPARITION AND PRAYER. 

The following, from "The Gilded Age," by Mark Twain and Charles 
Dudley Warner, represents a family emigrating from Eastern Tennessee into 
Missouri. The subjects of this sketch had never before been out of sight of the 
Knobs of East Tennessee. 

Whatever the lagging, dragging journey may have 
been to the rest of the emigrants, it was a wonder and de- 
light to the children, a world of enchantment; and they 
believed it to be peopled with the mysterious dwarfs and 
giants and goblins that figured in the tales the negro slaves 
were in the habit of telling them nightly by the shuddering 
light of the kitchen fire. 

At the end of nearly a week of travel, the party went 
into camp near a shabby village, which was caving, house 
by house, into the hungry Mississippi. The river astonished 
the children beyond measure. Its mile-breadth of water 



DIALECT. 371 

seemed an ocean to them in the shadowy twilight, and the 
vague ribbon of trees on the further shore the verge of a 
continent which surely none but they had ever seen before. 

"Uncle Dan'l" (colored), aged forty; his wife, "Aunt 
Jinny," aged thirty, "young Miss" Eniily Hawkins, "young 
Mars" Washington Hawkins, and "young Mars" Clay, the 
new member of the family, ranged themselves on a log after 
supper, and contemplated the marvelous river and discussed 
it. The moon rose and sailed aloft through a maze of 
shredded cloud-wreaths; the somber river just perceptibly 
brightened under the veiled light ; a deep silence pervaded 
the air, and was emphasized, at intervals, rather than broken, 
by the hooting of an owl, the baying of a dog, or the muf- 
fled crash of a caving bank in the distance. 

The little company assembled on the log were all children 
(at least in simplicity and broad and comprehensive igno- 
rance), and the remarks they made about the river were in 
keeping with their character ; and so awed were they by the 
grandeur and the solemnity of the scene before them, and 
by their belief that the air was filled with invisible spirits 
and that the faint zephyrs were caused by their passing 
wings, that all their talk took to itself a tinge of the super- 
natural, and their voices were subdued to a low and reverent 
tone. Suddenly Uncle Dan'l exclaimed : 

" Chil'en, dah 's sumfin a comin' ! " 

All crowded close together, and every heart beat faster. 
Uncle Dan'l pointed down the river with his bony finger. 

A deep coughing sound troubled the stillness, way toward 
a wooded cape that jutted into the stream a mile distant. 
All in an instant a fierce eye of fire shot out from behind 
the cape, and sent a long, brilliant pathway quivering 
athwart the dusky water. The coughing grew louder and 
louder, the glaring eye grew larger and still larger, glared 
wilder and still wilder. A huge shape developed itself out 
of the gloom, and from its tall duplicate horns dense volumes 
of smoke, starred and spangled with sparks, poured out and 



372 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

went tumbling away into the farther darkness. Nearer and 
nearer the thing came, till its long sides began to glow with 
spots of light, which mirrored themselves in the river and 
attended the monster like a torchlight procession. 
" Wliat is it ! O, what is it, Uncle Dan'l?" 
With deep solemnity the answer came : 
"It's de Almighty! Git down on yo' knees!" 
It was not necessary to say it twice. They were all 
kneeling in a moment. And then while the mysterious 
coughing rose stronger and stronger, and the threateniug 
glare reached farther and wider, the negro's voice lifted up 
its supplications : 

** O Lord, we 's ben mighty wicked, an' we knows dat we 
'zerve to go to de bad place ; but, good L,ord, deah Lord, we 
aint ready yit, we aint ready; let dese po' chil'en hab one 
mo' chance, jes' one mo' chance. Take de ole niggah if you's 
got to hab somebody. Good Lord, good deah Lord, we 
do n't know whah you 's a gwine to, we do n't know who 
you 's got yo' eye on ; but we knows by de way you 's a 
comin', we knows by de way you's a tiltin' along in yo' 
charyot o' fiah, dat some po' sinner's a gwine to ketch it. 
But, good Lord, dese cliil'en don't 'blong heah ; dey's f'm 
Obedstown, whah dey don't know nuffin, an' you knows yo' 
own sef dat dey ain't 'sponsible. An', deah Lord, good Lord, 
it aint like yo' mercy, it aint like yo' pity, it aint like yo' 
long-sufTerin' lovin'-kindness for to take dis kind o' 'vantage 
o' sich little chil'en as dese is when dey 's so many ornery 
grown folks, chuck full o' cussed ness, dat want's roastin' 
down dah. O Lord, spah de little chil'en ; do n't tar de 
little chil'en away f'm dey frens, jes' let 'em off jes' dis once, 
and take it out 'n de ole niggah. Heah I is. Lord, heah I 

is! De ole niggah 's ready, Lord, de ole " 

The flaming and churning steamer was right abreast the 
party, and not twenty steps away. The awful thunder of a 
mud-valve suddenly burst forth, drowning the prayer, and as 
suddenly Uncle Dan'l snatched a child under each arm, and 



DIALECT, 373 

scoured into tlie woods with the rest of the pack at his heels. 
And then, ashamed of himself, he halted in the deep dark- 
ness and shouted (but rather feebly) : 

" Heah I is, Lord, heah I is ! " 

There was a moment of throbbing suspense, and then, to 
the surprise and comfort of the party, it was plain that the 
august presence had gone by, for its dreadful noises were 
receding. Uncle Dan'l headed a cautious reconnoissance in 
the direction of the log. Sure enough '^ the Lord" was just 
turning a point a short distance up the river, and while they 
looked the lights winked out and the coughing diminished by 
degrees, and presently ceased altogether. 

"H'wsh! Well, now dey 's some folks says dey aint 
no 'ficiency in prah. Dis chile would like to know whah 
we 'd a ben now if it war n't fo' dat prah ? Dat 's it. 
Dat'sit!" 

"Uncle Dan'l, do you reckon it was the prayer that saved 
us?' said Clay. 

'' Does I reckon f Do n't I know it ? Whah was yo' eyes ? 
Wa n t de Lord jes' a comin' chow, chow, CHOW, an' a goin' 
on turrible ; an' do de Lord carry on dat way, but dey 's 
sumfin do n't suit him? An' war n't he a lookin' right at dis 
gang heah, an' war n't he jes' a reachin' for 'em ? An' d' you 
spec' he gwyne to let 'em off 'dout somebody ast him to do 
it? No, indeedy!" 

" Do you reckon he saw us, Uncle Dan'l?" 

" De law sakes, chile, did n't I see him a lookin' at us?" 

" Did you feel scared. Uncle Dan'l?" 

"iVb, sah! When a man. is 'gaged in prah he aint 'fraid 
o' nuffin — dey can 't nuffin tetch him." 

" Well, what did you run for?" 

"Well, I — I — Mars Clay, when a man is under de in- 
fluence ob de sperit he do-no what he's 'bout — no, sah; dat 
man do-no what he's 'bout. You raout take an' tah de head 
ofF'n dat man, an' he wauld n't scasely fine it out. Dah 's de 
Hebrew chil'en dat went frough de fiah ; dey was burnt con- 



374 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY, 

sidable — ob coase dey was ; but dey did n't know nnffin 'bout 
it — heal right up agin ; if dey'd ben gals dey'd missed dey 
long haah (hair), may be, but dey would n't felt de burn." 

"/ do n't know but what they were girls. I think they 
were." 

"Now, Mars Clay, you knows better 'n dat. Sometimes 
a body can 't tell whedder you 's a savin' what you means, or 
whedder you 's a sayin' what you do n't mean, 'case you says 
'em bofe de same way." 

" But how should I know whether they were boys or 
girls?" 

"Goodness sakes, Mars Clay, don't de good book say? 
'Sides, do n't it call 'em de Se-brew chil'en ? If dey was 
gals would n't dey be de she-brew chil'en ? Some people dat 
kin read do n't 'pear to take no notice when dey do read." 

" Well, Uncle Dan'l, I think that My ! here comes 

another one up the river! There can 't be twol" 

"We gone dis time — w^e done gone dis time, sho'! Dey 
aint two. Mars Clay — dat 's de same one. De Lord kin 'pear 
eberywhah in a second. Goodness, how de fiah an' de smoke 
do belch up ! Dat mean business, honey. He comin' now 
like he fo'got sumfin. Come 'long, chil'en, time you's gwyne 
to roos'. Go 'long wid you — ole Uncle Dan'l gwyne out in 
de woods to rastle in prah ; de ole niggah gwyne to do what 
he kin to sabe you agin." 

He did go to the woods and pray; but he went so far 
that he doubted himself if the Lord heard him when he 
went bv. 



JIMMY BUTLER AND THE OWL- 

'TwAS in the summer of '46 that I landed at Hamilton, 
fresh as a new pratie just dug from the ould sod, and wid 
a light heart and a heavy bundle I sot off for the township 
of Buford, tiding a taste of a song, as merry a young fellow 



DIALECT. 375 

as iver took the road. Well, I trudged on and on, past many 
a plisint place, pleasin' myself wid the thought that some 
day I might have a place of my own, wid a world of chickens 
and ducks and pigs and childer about the door; and along 
in the afternoon of the sicond day I got to Buford village. 
A cousin of me mother's, one Dennis O'Dowd, lived about 
sivin miles from there, and I wanted to make his place that 
night, so I inquired the way at the tavern, and was lucky 
to find a man who was goin' part of the way an' would 
show me the way to find Dennis. Sure he was very kind 
indade, an' when I got out of his wagon he pointed me 
through the wood and tould me to go straight south a mile 
an' a half, and the first house would be Dennis's. 

**An' you've no time to lose now," said he, "for the sun 
is low, and mind you don't get lost in the woods." 

"Is it lost now," said I, " that I'd be gittin', an' me 
uncle as great a navigator as iver steered a ship across the 
thrackless say ! Not a bit of it, -though I 'm obleeged to ye 
for your kind advice, and thank yiz for the ride." 

An' wid that he drove off an' left me alone. I shouldered 
me bundle bravely, an' whistling a bit of time for company 
like, I pushed into the bush. Well, I w^ent a long way over 
bogs, and turnin' round among the bush an' trees till I began 
to think I must be well-nigh to Denuis's. But, bad cess to 
it ! all of a sudden I came out of the woods at the very 
identical spot where I started in, which I knew by an ould 
crotched tree that seemed to be standin' on its head and 
kickin' up its heels to make divarsion of me. By this time 
it was growin' dark, and as there was no time to lose, I 
started in a second time, determined to keep straight south 
this time and no mistake. I got on bravely for a while, but 
och hone ! och hone ! it got so dark I could n't see the 
trees, and I bumped me nose and barked me shins, while the 
miskaties bit me hands and face to a blister ; an' after 
tumblin' and stumblin' around till I was fairly bam foozled, I 
sat down on a log, all of a trimble, to think that I was lost 



376 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

in ti rely, an' that maybe a lion or some other wild craythur 
would devour me before morning. 

Just then I heard somebody a long way off say, ** Whip 
poor Will!" "Bedad," sez I, "I'm glad it isn't Jamie 
that's got to take it, though it seems it's more in sorrow than 
in anger they are doin' it, or why should they say, * poor 
Will?' an' sure they can't be Injin, haythin, or naygur, 
for it's plain English they're afther spakin'. Maybe they 
might help me out o' this," so I shouted at the top of my 
voice: "A lost man!" Thin I listened. Prisently an 
answer came. 

''Who? Whoo? Whooo?" 

"Jamie Butler, the waiver!" sez I, as loud as I co\ild 
roar ; an' snatchin' up me bundle an' stick, I started iu the 
direction of the voice. Whin I thought I had got near the 
place I stopped and shouted again, "A lost man!" 

" Who ! Whoo 1 Whooo ! " said a voice right over my head. 

" Sure," thinks I, " it's a mighty quare place for a man 
to be at this time of night; maybe its some settler scrapin' 
sugar off a sugar-bush for the children's breakfast in the 
mornin'. But where 's Will and the rest of them?" All 
this wint through me head like a flash, an' thin I answered 
his inquiry. 

"Jamie Butler, the waiver," sez I; " and if it wouldn't 
inconvanience yer honor, would yez be kind enough to 
step down and show me the way to the house of Dennis 
O'Dowd ? " 

" Who! Whoo ! Whooo!" sez he. 

" Dennis O'Dowd," sez I, civil enough^; " and a dacent 
man he is, and first cousin to me own mother." 

"Who! Whoo! Whooo?" sez he again. 

" Me mother! " sez I ; "and as fine a woman as iver peeled 
a biled pratie wid her thumb-nail, and her maiden name 
was Molly McFiggin." 

"Who! Whoo! Whooo!" 

"Ye good-for-nothin' blaggurd naygur, if yiz don't come 



DIALECT. 377 

down and show me the way this min't, I '11 climb up there 
and break every bone in your skin, ye spalpeen, so sure as 
me name is Jimmy Butler ! " 

" Who ! Whoo ! Whooo ! " sez he, as impident as iver. 

I said niver a word, but layin' down me bundle, and 
takin' me stick in me teeth, I began to climb the tree. 
Whin I got among the branches I looked quietly around till 
I saw a pair of big eyes just forninst me. 

'* Whist," sez I, " and I '11 let him have a taste of an Irish 
stick," and wid that I let drive and lost me balance, an' 
came tumblin' to the ground, nearly breakin' me neck wid 
the fall. Whin I came to me siusis I had a very sore head 
wid a lump on it like a goose-egg, and half of me Sunday 
coat-tail torn off intirely. I spoke to the chap in the tree, 
but could git niver an answer, at all, at all. 

Sure, thinks I, he must have gone home to rowl up his 
head, for by the powers I did n't throw me stick for nothin'. 

Well, by this time the moon was up and I could see a 
little, and I detarmined to make one more effort to reach 
Dennis's. 

I wint on cautiously for a while, an' thin I heard a bell. 
** Sure," sez I, " I'm comin' to a settlement now, for I hear 
the church-bell." I kept on toward the sound till I came 
to an ould cow wid a bell on. She started to run, but I was 
too quick for her, and got her by the tail and hung on, 
thinkin' that maybe she would take me out of the woods. 
On we wint, like an ould country steeple-chase, till, sure 
enough, we came out to a clearin' and a house in sight wid 
a light in it. So, leavin' the ould cow puffin' an' blowin' in 
a shed, I wint to the house, and as luck would have it, 
whose should it be but Dennis's. 

He gave me a raal Irish welcome, and introduced me to 
his two daughters — as purty a pair of girls as iver ye clapped 
an eye on. But whin I tould him me adventure in the 
woods, and about the fellow who made fun of me they all 
laughed and roared, and Dennis said it was an owl. 

32 



378 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

''An ould what?" sez I. 

"Why, an owl, a bird," sez he. 

**Do you tell me now?" sez I. "Sure it's a quare 
country and a quare bird." 

And thin they all laughed again, till at last I laughed 
myself, that hearty like, and dropped right into a chair be- 
tween the twopurty girls, and the ould chap winked at me 
and roared again. 

Dennis is me father-in-law now, and he often yet delights 
to tell our children about their daddy's adventure wid 

the owl. ANON. 



BROTHER WATKINS. 

We have the subjoined discourse, delivered by a South- 
ern divine, Avho had removed to a new field of labor. To 
his new flock, on the first day of his ministration, he gave 
some reminiscences of his former charge, as follows : 

" My beloved brethering, before I take my text, I must 
tell you about my parting with my old congregation. On 
the morning of last Sabbath I went into the meeting-house 
to preach my farewell discourse. Just in front of me sot the 
old fathers and mothers in Israel ; the tears coursed down 
their furrowed cheeks; their tottering forms and quivering 
lips breathed out a sad — 'Fare ye well. Brother Watkins — 
ah ! ' Behind them sot the middle-aged men and matrons ; 
health and vigor beamed from every countenance ; and as 
they looked up I could see in their dreamy eyes — ' Fare ye 
well, Brother Watkins — ah ! ' Behind them sot the boys and 
girls that I had baptized and gathered into the Sabbath- 
school. Many times had they been rude and boisterous, but 
now their merry laugh was hushed, and in the silence I 
could hear — ' Fare ye well, Brother Watkins — ah ! ' Around, 
on the back seats, and in the aisles, stood and sot the colored 
brethering, with their black faces and honest hearts, and as I 
looked upon them I could see a — ' Fare ye well, Brother Wat- 



DIALECT. 379 

kins — ah ! ' AVhen I had finished my discourse, and shaken 
hands with the hretheriug — ah ! I passed out to take a last 
look at the old church — ah ! the broken steps, the flopping 
blinds, and moss-covered roof, suggested only — ' Fare ye well, 
Brother Watkins — ah ! ' I mounted my old gray mare, with 
my earthly possessions in my saddle-bags, and as I passed 
down the street, the servant girls stood in the doors, and 
with their brooms waved me a — ' Fare ye well, Brother 
Watkins — ah ! ' As I passed out of the village, the low wind 
blew softly through the waving branches of the trees, and 
moaned^ — ' Fare ye well. Brother Watkins — ah ! ' I came 
down to the creek, and as the old mare stopped to drink, I 
could hear the water rippling over the pebbles a — ' Fare ye 
well, Brother Watkins — ah ! ' And even the little fishes, as 
their bright fins glistened in the sunlight, I thought, gath- 
ered around to say, as best they could — ' Fare ye well. 
Brother Watkins — ah ! ' I was slowly passing up the hill, 
meditating upon the sad vicissitudes and mutations of life, 
when suddenly out bounded a big hog from a fence-corner, 
with aboo ! aboo ! and I came to the ground, with my sad- 
dle-bags by my side. As I lay in the dust of the road, my 
old gray mare run up the hill, and as she turned the top, 
she waved her tail back at me, seemingly to say — ' Fare ye 
well. Brother Watkins — ah ! ' I tell you, my brethering, it 
is affecting times to part with a congregation you have been 
with for over thirty years — ah ! " john b. gough. 



I.OOKOUT MOUNTAIN, 1863— BEUTKIvS- 
BACH, 1880. 

"Yah, I shpeaks English a leetle; berhaps yon shpeaks petter 
der German." 
"No, not a Avord."— " Veil den, Meester, it hardt for me to 
be oonderstandt. 



380 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

I vos drei yahr in your coontry, I fights in der army mit Sher- 
man — 
Twentieth Illinois Infantry — fightin' Joe Hooker's com- 
mandt." 

" So you 've seen service in Georgia— a veteran, eh ? " " Veil I 
tell you 
Shust how it vos. I vent ofer in sixty, nnd landt in Nei- 
York ; 
I shpends all mine money, gets sick, und near dies in der Hos- 
piddal Bellevue; 
Ven I gets petter I tramps to Cheecago to look for some 
vork." 

"Pretty young then, I suppose?" " Yah, svansig apout ; und 
der beoples 
Vot I goes to for to ask for vork dey have none for to geef ; 
Efery von laughs ; but I holds my head up just so high as der 
steeples. 
Only dot var comes along, or I should have die, I beUef." 

"Ever get wounded? I notice you walk rather lame and un- 
steady. 
Pshaw ! got a wooden leg, eh ? What battle ? At Lookout ? 
do n't say ! 
I was there, too — wait a minute, your beer-glass is empty already. 
Call for another. There ! tell me how 'twas you got wounded 
that day." 

" Veil, ve charge ope der side of der mountain, der sky vas all 
shmoky und hazy ; 
Ve fight all day long in der clouds, but I nefer get hit until 
night — 
But — I do n't care to say mouch apout it. Der poys called me 
foolish und crazy, 
Und der doctor vot cut ofe my leg, he say, ' Goot ' — dot it 
serf me shust right. 

" But I dinks I vood do dot thing over again, shust der same, 
und no matter 
Vot any man say." — " Well, let 's hear it; you need n't mind 
talking to me. 



DIALECT. 381 

For I was there, too, as I tell you, and Lor! how the bullets did 
patter 
Around on that breastwork of boulders that sheltered our 
Tenth Tennessee." 

" So ? Dot vos a Tennessee regiment charged upon ours in de 
efening, 
Shust before dark ; und dey yell as dey charge, und ve geef 
a hurrah ; 
Der roar of der guns, it vas orful." "Ah! yes, I remember, 
'twas deafening, 
The hottest musketry firing that ever our regiment saw." 

" Und after ve drove dem back, und der night come on, I listen, 
TJnd dinks dot I hear somepody a calling, a voice dot cried : 

* Pring me some vater, for Gott's sake ! ' I saw his pelt-blate 
glisten 
Oonder der moonlight, on der barapet, shust outside. 

I dhrow my canteen ofer to vare he lie, but he answer 

Dot his left hand vos gone, und his right arm broke mit a 
fall; 
Den I shump ofer, und give him to drink ; but shust as I ran, sir, 
Bang ! come a sharpshooter's pullet, and dot 's how it vos — 
dot is all." 

"And they called you foolish and crazy, did they? Him you 
befriended — 
The reb., I mean — what became of him? Did he ever come 
round ? " 
" Dey tell me he crawl to my side, und call till his strength vos 
all ended, 
Until dey come out mit der stretchers, und carry us from 
der ground. 

But pefore ve go, he ask me my name, und says he : ' Yacob 
Keller, 
You loses your leg for me, und some day, if both of us leefs, 
I shows you I do n't forget,' — but he must have died, de poor 
feller. 
I nefer hear ofe him shice. He do n't get veil, I beliefs. 

Only I alvays got der saddisfackshun ofe knowin' — 

Shtop ! vot 's der matter? Here, take some peer, you 're vite 
as a sheet — 



382 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

Shteady ! your band on my shoulder ! my gootness ! I dinks you 
vas goin' 
To lose your senses avay und fall right off mit der seat. 

" Geef me your handts. Vot ! der left von gone ? Und you vos 
a soldier 
In dot same battle ? — a Tennessee regiment ? — dot 's mighty 
queer— 
Berhaps, after all, you 're—" '* Yes, Yacob, (Jod bless you, old 
fellow, T told you 
I 'd never— no, never forget you. I told you I 'd come, and 
l^m hcre.^^ CxEOrge l. catlin. 



THE SHIP OF FAITH. 

A CERTAIN colored brother had been holding forth to his 
little flock, upon the ever-fruitful topic of faith, and he 
closed his exhortation about as follows: 

'' My bruddren, ef yous gwine to git saved, you got to 
git on board de ship ob faith. I tell you, my bruddren, 
dere ain't no odder way Dere ain't no gitten up de back 
stairs, nor goin' 'cross lots; you can't do dat away, my brud- 
dren, you got to git on board de ship ob faith. Once 'pon 
a time dere was a lot ob colored people, an' dey was all 
gwine to de promised land. Well, dey knowed dere want 
no odder way for 'em to do but to git on board de ship ob 
faith. So dey all went down an' got on board, de ole gran- 
faders, an' de ole grauraudders, an' de pickaninnies, an' all 
de res' ob 'em. Dey all got on board 'ceptin' one mons'us 
big feller; he said he's gwine to swim, he was. 'Wy!' 
dey said, *yoii can't swim so fur like dat. It am a power- 
ful long way to de promised land!' He said, 'I kin swim 
anywhar, I kin. I git board no boat, no, 'deed!' Well, 
my bruddren, all dey could say to dat poor disluded man 
dey could n't git him on board de ship ob faith, so dey 
started off. De day w^as fair; de win' right; de sun shinin', 
an' ev'ryt'ng b'utiful; an' dis big feller he pull off his close 



DIALECT. 383 

and plunge in de water. Well, lie war a powerful swimmer, 
dat man, 'deed he war ; he war dat powerful he kep* 
right 'long side de boat all de time ; he kep' a hollerin' out 
to de people on de boat, sayin' : ' What you doin' dere, you 
folks, brilin' away in de sun ; you better come down here in 
de water, nice an' cool down here.' But dey said: 'Man 
alive, you better come up here in dis boat while you got a 
chance.' But he said: 'No, indeedy ! I git aboard no 
boat; I'm havin' plenty fun in de water.' Well, bimeby, 
my bruddren, what you tink dat pore man seen? A horri- 
ble, awful shark, my bruddren; mouf wide open, teef more'n 
a foot long, ready to chaAv dat pore man all up de minute 
he catch him. AYell, when he seen dat shark, he begin to 
git awful scared, an' he holler out to de folks on board de 
ship: 'Take me on board, take me on board, quick!' But 
dey said: 'No, indeed; you would n't come up here when 
you had an invite, you got to swim now.' 

"He look over his shoulder, an' he seen dat shark a-comin', 
an' he let hisself out. Fust it was de man an' den it was de 
shark, and den it was de man agin, dat way, my bruddren, 
plum io de promised land. Dat am de blessed troof I'm 
a-tellin' you dis minute. But what you t'ink was a-waitin' 
for him on de odder shore when he got dere? A horrible, 
aufid lion, my bruddren, was a-stan'in' dere on de shore, 
a-lashin' his sides wid his tail, an' a-roarin' away fit to devour 
dat pore nigger de minit he got on de shore. Well, he war 
powerful scared den, he didn't know what he gwine to do. 
If he stay in de water de shark eat him up ; if he go on de 
shore de lion eat him up ; he dunno what to do. But he put 
his trust in de Lord, an' went for de shore. Dat lion he 
give a fearful roar, an' bound for him; but, my bruddren, as 
sure as you live an' breeve, dat horrible, awful lion he jump 
clean ober dat pore feller's head into de water; an' de sharh 
eat de lion. But, my bruddren, don't you put your trust in 
no sich circumstance; dat pore man he done git saved, but I 
tell you de Lord ainH a-givine to furnish a lion for every nigger !" 



384 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 



ON THE SHORES OF TENNESSEE. 

"Move my arm-chair, faithful Pompcy, 

In the sunshine bright and strong, 
For this world is fading, Ponipey — 

Massa won't be with you long; 
And I fain would hear the south wind 

Bring once more the sound to me 
Of the wavelets softly breaking 

On the shores of Tennessee. 

Mournful though the ripples murmur, 

As they still the story tell, 
ITow no vessels float the banner 

That I 've loved so long and well, 
I shall listen to their music. 

Dreaming that again I see 
Stars and Stripes on sloop and shallop 

Sailing up the Tennessee. 

And, Pompey, while old Massa 's waiting 

For death's last dispatch to come, 
If that exiled starry banner 

Should come proudly sailing home, 
You shall greet it, slave no longer— 

A'oice and hand shall both be free 
That shouts and points to Union colors 

On the waves of Tennessee ! " 

" Massa 's berry kind to Pompey; 

But ole darkey 's happy here. 
Where he 's tended corn and cotton 

For 'ese many a long-gone year. 
Over yonder IMissis 's sleeping — 

No one tends her grave like me; 
Mebbe she would miss the flowers 

She used to love in Tennessee. 

*Pears like she w^as watching Massa, 
If Pompey should beside him stay; 

Mebbe she 'd remember better 

How for him she used to pray ; 



DTALECT. 385 

Telling him that 'way up yonder 

White as snow his soul would be, 
If he served the Lord of heaven 

While he lived in Tennessee." 

Silently the tears were rolling 

Down the poor old dusky face, 
As he stepped behind his master, 

In his long-accustomed place. 
Then a silence fell around them, 

As they gazed on rock and tree 
Pictured in the placid waters 

Of the rolling Tennessee ; — 

Master, dreaming of the battle 

Where he fought by Marion's side, 
When he bid the haughty Tarleton 

Stoop his lordly crest of pride ; 
Man, remembering how yon sleeper 

Once he held upon his knee. 
Ere she loved the gallant soldier, 

Ealph Yervair, of Tennessee. 

Still the south- wind fondly lingers 

'Mid the veteran's silvery hair ; 
Still the bondman, close beside him, 

Stands behind the old arm-chair, 
With his dark-hued hand uplifted. 

Shading eyes, he bends to see 
Where the woodland, boldly jutting. 

Turns aside the Tennessee. 

Thus he watches cloud-born shadows 

Glide from tree to mountain crest, 
Softlj' creeping, aye and ever, 

To the river's yielding breast. 
Ha! above the foliage yonder 

Something flutters wild and free ! 
" Massa ! Massa ! Hallelujah ! 

The flag 's come back to Tennessee ! " 

"Pompej', hold me on your shoulder, 

Help me stand on foot once more, 
That I may salute the colors 

As they pass my cabin door. 
33 



386 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

Here 's the paper signed that frees you, 
Give a freeman's sliout with me — 

'God and Union! ' be our watchword 
Evermore in Tennessee ! " 

Then the trembhng voice grew fainter, 

And the limbs refused to stand ; 
One prayer to Jesus — and the soldier 

Glided to the better land. 
When the flag went down the river 

Man and master both were free ; 
While the ring-dove's note was mingled 

Witli the rippling Tennessee. 



BEERS. 



THE LOST SHEEP. 

De massa ob de sheepfol', 

Dat guard de sheepfol' bin, 

Look out in de gloomerin' meadows 
Whar de long night-rain begin — 

So he call to de hirelin' shepa'd, 

Is my sheep, is dey all come in? 

O, den says de hireling shepa'd : 

Der's some dey's black and thin, 

And some, dey 's po' ol' wedda's, 
But de res' dey 's all brung in. 
But de res' dey 's all brung in. 

Den de massa ob de sheepfol', 

Dat guard de sheepfol' bin, 
Goes down in de gloomerin' meadows, 

Whar de long night-rain begin — 
So he le' down de ba's ol) de sheepfol' 

Callin' sof ', Come in. Come in. 

Callin sof, Come in, Come in. 

Den up t'ro' de gloomerin' meadows, 
T'ro' de col' night-rain and win', 

And up t'ro' de gloomerin' rain-paf 
Whar de sleet fa' pie'cin' thin, 



DIALECT. 387 



De po' los' sheep ob de sheepfol' 
Dey all comes gadderin' in. 

De po' los' sheep ob de sheepfol' 
Dey all comes gadderin' in. 



AUNT POLICY'S " GEORGE WASHINGTON." 

" George Washin'ton ! " 

From down the hill the answer floated up, muffled by the 
distance: "Ma'm?" 

" Come heah, sah !" 

Aunt Polly folded her arms and leaned against the door- 
way, and waited for the appearance of her son and heir 
above the edge of the hill on which her cabin stood. 

The crown of a ragged straw hat surmounting a dusky 
face first appeared, followed by a pair of shoulders covered 
with a nondescript shirt; then, as he climbed the incline, 
there rose gradually to his mother's view a pair of large and 
heavy trousers in an advanced state of dilapidation ; and drag- 
ging slowly along, as if unwilling to follow the body, two 
bare, black feet; and thus, fully revealed from top to toe, 
came a solemn and dirty little darkey. 

His mother's eyes rested on him with a sparkle of in- 
dignation in them. 

"George Washin'ton," she said, **you sartainly is de 
laziest nigger I eber see. How long, sah, does you s'pose 
you was a-comin' up dat hill? You don' no? I don', 
nether; 'twas so long I los' all count. You'll bring yore 
mudder's gray har in sorrer to de grabe yet, wid yore pokin' 
and slowness, see if you don'. Heah I is waitin' and a-waitin' 
on you fur to go down to old Mass' Cunnin'ham's wid dose 
tings. Take 'em to de young city man boardin' dar, and tell 
him dese is his clean close dat your old raudder washed, and 
dat dey comes to fifty cents. And if you let de grass grow 
under yore feet, George Washin'ton, or spiles dese close, or 



388 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

loses dat fifty cents, I '11 break yore bones, chile, when you 
comes home. You heah dat?" 

George AVashington nodded. He never exhausted him- 
self in unnecessary speech. He was a strange, silent child, 
with a long, solemn face and chronic toothache, or jawache, 
for he never appeared without a wliite rag tied up over 
his ears, and terminating in two flopping ends of equal 
length on the top of his head — an adornment that gave 
him the look of an aged rabbit, black in the face and gray 
in the ears. 

On the present occasion, his mother freshened up his 
toilet by tying another rag around his jaws, and giving him 
the basket containing the ''young city man's" beautifully 
laundried linen, and a final injunction to be careful, started 
him safely off. 

George Washington rested his basket on his hip, and 
jogged along. Meditations as to what his mother might 
have for supper on the strength of the fifty cents brightened 
his visage and accelerated his steps. His fancy reveled in 
visions of white biscuit and crisp bacon floating in its own 
grease. He was gravely weighing the relative merits of 
spring chicken fried and more elderly chicken stewed, 
when — 

There was only one muddy place on George Washington's 
route to town. That w^as down at the foot of the hill, by 
the railroad track. Why should his feet slip from under 
him, and he go sliding into the mud right there? It was 
too bad. It did not hurt him ; but those shirts and shining 
colars, alas ! Some of them tumbled out, and he lifted them 
up all spattered and soiled. 

He sat down and contemplated the situation with an ex- 
pression of speechless solemnity. He was afraid to go back, 
and he was afraid to go on, but he would rather face the 
*'city man" than his mother; and with a sigh he lifted the 
linen to its place, and trudged on. 

The young folks at ''Mass' Cunningham's" sent him to 



DIALECT. 389 

the boarder's room, with many a jest on his slowness; and 
he shook in his ragged clothes when the young man lifted the 
things from the basket to put them away. 

He exclaimed m anger at their soiled appearance, and, of 
course, immediately bundled them back into the basket. 

"Here, George," he said, "take these back to your 
mother to wash ; and do n't you dare, you little vagabond ! 
ever bring such looking things to me again ! " 

Slowly the namesake of our illustrious countryman 
climbed the hill toward home; slowly he entered and set 
dow^n his basket. The rapidity with which he emerged 
from the door, about three minutes later, might have led a 
stranger to believe that it was a different boy. 

But it was not. It was the same George. 

The next afternoon came round, and George Washington 
again departed on his errand. No thoughts of supper or 
good things ran rife in his brain to-day. He attended 
strictly to business. His mother, standing in the doorway, 
called after him: "Be keerful, George Wasliin'ton, 'bout de 
train. I heer'd it at de upper junction jess now. It'll be 
long trectly." 

George Washington nodded and disappeared. He crossed 
the muddy place in safety, and breathed more freely. He 
was turning toward town, when something on the railroad 
track caught his eye. There lay the big rock that had been 
on the hill above ever since he could remember ; it was right 
in the middle of the track. He wondiered how the coming 
train would get over it. 

Across on the other side, the hill sloped down to a deep 
ravine. What if the big rock pushed the train off! His 
heart gave a great jump. He had heard them talk of an 
accident once, where many people were killed. He thought 
of running to tell somebody, but it was a good way to the 
next house, and just then he heard the train faintly ; it was 
too late for that. Just above, in the direction that the train 
was coming, was a sharp curve. It could not stop if it 



390 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

came tearing round that, and on tlie other side of the bend 
was a very high trestle that made him sick to look at. 

The slow, dull boy stood and trembled. 

In a moment more he had set his basket carefully in the 
bush, and ran around the curve. At the edge of the trestle 
he paused, and then dropping on his hands and knees crept, 
as fast as he could, over the dizzy height to the other side. 
He staggered to his feet, and ran on. 

When the train dashed in sight, the engineer spied a 
small object on the track, pointing frantically behind him. 
The child ran away from the track, but continued to wave 
and point and shout. 

The train whistled and slackened. George Washington, 
hatless and breathless, was jerked into the engine, where he 
gasped: " Big rock on de track round de curve! " The train 
was moved slowly over the trestle, and stopped in the curve ; 
and there, indeed, was the rock that might have hurled them 
all down to death, but for that i-idiculous-looking little boy. 

Meanwhile in the cabin. Aunt Polly was restless, and 
concluded to go down to the foot of the hill, and wait for 
George Washington. Behold, then, as she appeared down 
the path, the sight that met her gaze. 

''What's dis boy bin a-doin'! I'se his mudder. I is. 
What 's dis mean ! " 

On this identical train was the president of the road. 

" Why, auntie," he said, "you have a boy to be proud of. 
He crept over the high trestle and warned the train, and 
and maybe saved all our lives. He is a hero." 

Aunt Polly was dazed. 

"A hearo," she said; " dat's a big t'ing for a little black 
nigger. George AVashin'ton, whar 's dat basket?" 

"In de bushes, mammy; I'se gwine for to get it." 

The train was nearly ready to be off. The president 
called Aunt Polly aside, and she came back with a beaming 
face, and five ten-dollar bills clutched in her hands. 

Aunt Polly caught George in her arms. 



DIALECT. 391 

"Dey sed you was a hearo, George Washin'ton, but you 
is your mammy's own boy, and you shall hab chicken for 
yore supper dis berry night, and a whole poun' cake to- 
morrow ; yes, you sliall ! " 

And when George Washington returned the gentleman 
his washing, he, like his namesake, was a hero. 

ABRIDGED FROM YOUTH'S COMPANION. 



DOT LEEDIvK YAWCOB STRAUSS. 

I HAF von funny leedle poy 

Vot gomes schust to my knee, 
Der queerest schap, der Greatest rogue 

As efer you dit see. 
He runs, und schumps, und schmashes dings 

In all barts off der house. 
But vot off dot ? He was mine son, 

Mine leedle Yawcob Strauss. 

He get der measles imd der mumbs, 

Und eferydiug dot's out ; 
He sbills mine glass of lager bier, 

Foots schnuff indo mine kraut; 
He fills mine pipe mit Limburg cheese — 

Dot vas der roughest chouse ; 
I 'd dake dot vrom no oder poy 

But leedle Yawcob Strauss. 

He dakes der milk-ban for a dhrum, 

Und cuts mine cane in dwo 
To make der schticks to beat it mit — 

Mine cracious, dot vas drue ! 
I dinks mine hed vas schplit abart 

He kicks oup sooch a touse ; 
But nefer mind — dar poys vas few 

Like dot young Yawcob Strauss. 

He asks me questions sooch as dese : 
Who baints mine nose so red ? 

Who vos it cuts dot schmoodth blace oudt 
Yrom der hair ubon mine hed ? 



392 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY, 

Und vhere der plaze goes vrom der lamp 

Vene'er der glim I douse ? 
How gan I all dese dings eggsblain 

To dot schmall Yawcob Strauss? 

I somedinies dink I schall go vild 

Mit sooch a grazy poy, 
Und visli vonce more I gould liaf rest 

Und beaceful dimes enshoy. 
But ven he vas ashleep in ped, 

So quiet as a mouse, 
I prays der Lord, " Dake anydings. 

But leaf dot Yawcob Strauss." 

CHARLES F, ADAMS. 



DOT BABY OFF MINE. 

Mine cracious ! Mine craeious ! shust look here und see 

A Deutscher so habby as habby can pe. 

Der beoples all dink dat no prains I haf got, 

Vas grazy mit trinking, or someding like dot ; 

Id vas n't pecause I trinks lager und vine, 

Id vas all on aggount off dot baby off" mine. 

Dot schmall leedle vellow, I dells you vas qveer; 
Not mooch pigger roundt as a goot glass off beer, 
Mit a bare-footed hed, und nose but a schpeck, 
A mout' dot goes most to der pack off his neck, 
Und his leedle pink toes mit der rest all combine 
To gife sooch a charm to dot baby off mine. 

I dells you dot baby vas von off der poys, 

Und beats leedle Yawcob for making a noise ; 

He shust has pecun to shbeak goot English, too, 

Says "mamma/ und "bapa," und somedimes "ah — goo! 

You do n'd find a baby den dimes out off nine 

Dot vos qvite so schmart as dot baby off mine. 

He grawls der vloor ofer, und drows dings aboudt, 

Und poots efryding he can find in his mout' ; 

He dumbles der shtairs down, und falls vrom his chair, 

Und gifes mine Katrina von derrible sckare ; 

Mine hair shtands like shquills on a mat borcubine 

Ven I dinks off dose pranks off dot baVjy off mine. 



DIALECT. 393 

Bere vos someding, you pet, I don'd likes pooty veil; 

To hear in der nighdt-dimes dot young Deutsclier yell, 

I'nd dravel der ped-room midout many clo'es, 

Yhile der chills down der shpine off mine pack quickly goes ; 

Dose leedle shimnasdic dricks vas n't so fine, 

Dot I cuts opp at nighdt mit dot baby off mine. 

Veil, deese leedle schafers vas goin' to pe men, 
Und all off dese droubles vill peen ofer den ; 
Dey vill vare a vhite shirt vront inshted off a bib, 
Und vould n't got tucked oop at nighdt in deir crib — 
Yell ! veil ! ven I'm feeple und in life's decline, 
May mine oldt age pe cheered py dot baby off mine ! 

CHAKLES F. ADAMS. 



DOT LEEDLE LOWEEZA. 

How DEAR to dis heart vas mine grandshild, Loweezal 

Dot shveet leedle taughter off Yawcob, mine son ! 
I nefer vas tired to hug und to shqueeze her 

Yhen home I gets back, und der day's vork vas done. 
Yhen I vas avay, 0, I know dot she miss me, 

For vhen I come homevards she rushes bell-mell, 
Vnd pools oup dot shveet leedle mout' for to kiss me — 

Her " darling oldt gampa " dot she lofe so veil. 

Katrina, mine frau, she could not do mitout her, 

She vas sooch a gomfort to her day py day; 
Dot shild she make efry von habby aboudt her. 

Like sunshine she drife all dheir droubles avay ; 
She holdt der vool yarn vhile Katrina she vind it, 

She pring her dot camfire -bottle to shmell ; 
She fetch me mine bipe, too, vhen I do n'd can find it, 

Dot plue-eyed Loweeza dot lofe me so veil. 

How shveet, vhen der toils off der veek vas all ofer, 

Und Sunday vas come mit its quiet and rest, 
To valk mit dot shild 'mong der daisies und clofer, 

Und look at der leedle birds building dheir nest! 
Her pright leedle eyes how dhey shparkle mit bleasure, 

Her laugh it rings oudt shust so clear as a pell ; 
I dink dhere vas nopody haf sooch a treasure 

As dot shmall Loweeza. dot lofe me so veil. 



394 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

Vhen vinter vas come, mit its coldt, shtormy veddher, 

Katrina und I ve iimsdt sit in der house 
Und dalk of der bast, by de fireside togedder, 

Or play mit dot taugliter off our Yawcob Strauss. 
Oldt age mit its wrinkles pegins to remind us 

Ve gannot shtay long mit our shildren to dwell ; 
But soon ve shall meet mit der poys left pehind u^, 

Und dot shveet Loweeza, dot lofe us so veil. 

CHARLES F. ADAMS. 



MINE KATRINE. 

You vouldn't dink mine frau, 
If you shust look at her now, 
Yhere der wrinkles on her prow 

Long haf been ; 
Yas der fraulein blump und fair, 
Mit der vafy flaxen hair, 
Who did vonce mine heart enshnare; 

Mine Katrine. 

Der dime seems shord to me 
Since ve game acrosd der sea, 
To der gountry off der free 

Ye'd nefer seen; 
But ve hear de beople say 
Dhere vas vork und blendy bay, 
So I shtarted righd away 

Mit Katrine. 

O, der shoy dot filled mine house 
A^hen dot goot oldt Toctor Krauss 
Brought us leedle Yawcob Strauss, 

Sh veet und clean ; 
Vhy, I do n'd pelief mine eyes 
Vhen I look, now, mit sur]«rise, 
On dot feller, shust der size 

Off Katrine! 

Den ** dot leedle babe off mine," 
He vas grown so tall und fine ; 
Shust so sdrait as any pine 
Y^ou efer seen ; 



DIALECT. 395 

Und der beoples all agree 
Soocli fine poys dey nefer see. 
Dey looks mooch more like me 
As Katrine. 

Yell, ye haf our criefs und shoys, 
Und dhere 's naught our lofe destroys, 
Bud I miss dose leedle poys 

Dot used to been ; 
Unci der tears vill somedime sdart, 
Und I feels so sick at heart, 
Yen I dinks I soon musd part 

From Katrine. 

Oldt Time vill soon pe here, 
Mit his sickle und his shpear, 
Und vill yhisper in mine ear 

Mit sober mien : 
" You must coom along mit me, 
For id vas der Lord's decree ; 
Und von day dose poys you '11 see, 

Und Katrine." charles f. adams. 



SCHNEIDER SEES LEAH. 

I YANT to dold you vat it is, dot 's a putty nice play. 
De first dime dot you see Leah, she runs cross a pridge, mit 
some fellers chasiu' her mit putty big shtics. Dey ketch her 
right in de middle of der edge, und der leader (dot's de 
villen), he sez of her, "Dot it's better ven she dies, und dot 
he coodent allow it dot she can lif." Und de oder fellers 
hollers out, ''So ve vill;" "Gife her some deth;" "Kill 
her putty quick;" "Shmack her of der jaw," und such 
dings ; und chust as dey vill kill her, de priest says of dem, 
"Dond you do dot," und dey shtop dot putty quick. In 
der nexd seen, dot Leah meets Rudolph (dot's her feller) in 
de voods. Before dot he comes in, she sits of de bottom 
of a cross, und she dond look putty lifely, und she says : 
" Rudolph, Rudolph, how is dot, dot you dond come und 



396 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

see about me ? You did n't shpeak of me for tree days long. 
I vant to dold you vot it is, dot aint some luf. I do n'd 
like dot." Veil, Rudolph he do n'd vas dere, so he coodent 
sed sometings. But ven he comes in she dells of him dot 
she lufs him orful, und he says dot he guess he lufs her 
orful too, und vants to know vood she leef dot place, und 
go oud in some oder country mit him. Und she says, " I 
told you I vill ; " und he says, '' Dot 's all right ;" und he tells 
her he vill meet her soon, und dey vill go vay dogedder. Den 
he kisses her und goes oud, und she feels honkey dory bout dot. 
Veil, in der nexd seen, Rudolph's old man finds oud all 
about dot, und he dond feel putty goot ; und he says of 
Rudolph, "Vood you leef me, und go mit dot gal?" und 
Rudolph feels putty bad. He do n'd know vot he shall do. 
Und der old man he says, ''I dold you vot I'll do. De 
skoolmaster (dot's de villen) says dot she might dook some 
money to go vay. Now, Rudolph, my poy, I '11 gif de skool- 
master sum money to gif do her, und if she do n'd dook dot 
money, I'll let you marry dot gal." Ven Rudolph hears 
dis, he chumps mit joyness, und says: "Fader, fader, dot's 
all righd. Dot's pully. I baed you anydings she voodent 
dook dot money." Veil, de old man gif de skoolmaster de 
money, und dells him dot he shall offer dot of her. Veil, 
dot pluddy skoolmaster comes back und says dot Leah dook 
dot gold right avay, ven she did n't do dot. Den de old 
man says, "Didn't I told you so?" und Rudolph gets so 
vild dot he svears dot she can 't haf someding more to do 
mit him. So ven Leah vill meet him in de voods, he do n'd 
vas dere, und she feels orful, und goes avay. Bime-by she 
comes up to Rudolph's house. She feels putty bad, und she 
knocks of de door. De old man comes oud, und says : " Got 
oud of dot, you orful vooman. Do n'd you come round after 
my poy again, else I put you in de dooms." Und she says: 
" Chust let me see Rudolph vonce, und I vill vander avay." 
So den Rudolph comes oud, und she vants to rush of his 
arms, but dot pluddy fool voodent allow dot. He chucks 



DIALECT. 397 

her avay, imd says: ''Don'd you touch me uf you please, 
you deceitfulness gal." I dold you vat it is, dot looks ruff 
for dot poor gal. Und she is extonished, und says : " Vot is 
dis aboud dot?" Und Rudolph, orful mad, says: "Got 
oudsiedt, you ignomonous vooman." Uud she feels so orful 
she coodent said a vord, und she goes oud. 

Afterwards, Rudolph gits married to anoder gal in a 
shurch. Veil, Leah, who is vandering eferyveres, happens 
to go in dot shurch-yard to cry, chust at de same dime of 
Rudolph's marriage, which she do n'd know someding aboud. 
Putty soon she hears de organ, und she says dere is some 
beeples gitten married, und dot it vill do her unhappiness 
goot if she sees dot. So she looks in de vinder, und ven 
she sees who dot is, my graciousness, do n'd she holler, und 
shvears vengeance ! Putty soon Rudolph chumps oud indo 
der shurch-yard to got some air. He says he do n'd feel 
putty goot. Putty soon dey see each oder, und dey had a 
orful dime. He says of her: "Leah, how, how is dot you 
been here?" Und she say mit big scorn fuln ess : "How is 
dot, you got cheek to talk of me afder dot vitch you hafe 
done?" Den he says: "Veil, vot for you dook dot gold, 
you false-hearted leetle gal?" Und she says: "Vot gold is 
dot ? I did n't dook some gold." Und he says : ' ' Do n'd 
you dold a lie aboud dot?" She says, slowfully : "I dold 
you I didn't dook some gold. Vot gold is dot?" Und den 
Rudolph tells her all aboud dot, und she says, "Dot is a 
orful lie. I did n't seen some gold ; " und she adds mit 
much sarkasmness : "Und you beliefed I dook dot gold? 
Dot's de vorst I efer heered. Now, on accound of dot, I 
vill give you a few gurses." Uud she svears mit orful voices 
dot Mister Kain's gurse should git on him, und dot he coodent 
never git any happiness eferyvere, no matter vere he is. 
Den she valks off. Veil, den a long dime passes avay, und 
den you see Rudolph's farm. He has got a nice vife, und a 
putiful leetle child. Putty soon Leah comes in, being shased, 
as ushual, by fellers mit sh ticks. She looks like she didn't 



398 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

ead someding for two monds. Rudolph's vife send? off dot 
mop, und Leah gits avay again. Den dot nice leetle child 
comes oud, und Leah comes back; und ven she sees dot 
child, do n'd she feel orful aboud dot, und she says mit 
affectfulness, "Come here, leedle child, I voodeuVl harm 
you ; " und dot nice leedle child goes righd up, und Leah 
grabs her in her arms, und gries, und kisses her. O, my 
graciousness, do n'd she grie aboud dot ! 

Und den she says vile she gries: "Leedle childs, do n*d 
you got some names?" Und dot leedle child sh peaks oud so 
nice, pless her leedle hard, und says: "O yes! My name 
dot 's Leah, und my papa tells me dot I shall pray for you 
efery nighd." O, my goodnessness ! do n'd Leah gry orful 
ven she hears dot. I dold you vat it is, dot's a sliplaiudid 
ding. Und quick comes dem tears in your eyes, und you 
look up ad de vail, so dot nobody can 'd see dot, und you 
make oud you do n'd care aboud it. But your eyes gits 
fulled up so quick dot you could n'd keep dem in, und de 
tears comes down of your face like a shnow-storm, und den 
you do n'd care not'ing if efery body sees dot. Und Leah 
kisses her, und gries like dot her hard's broke, und she 
dooks off dot gurse from Rudolph und goes avay. De child 
den dell her fader und muder aboud dot, und dey pring her 
back. Den dot mop comes back und vill kill her again ; but 
she exposes dot skoolmaster — dot villain — und dot fixes him. 
Den she falls down in Rudolph's arms, und your eyes gits 
fulled up again, und you cau'd see someding more. You 
could n't help dot any vay. Und if I see a gal vot do n'd gry 
in dot piece, I vood n't marry dot gal. Schneider. 



SETTING A HEN. 

Meester Verris, — I see dot mosd efferypoty wrides 
someding for de chicken babers nowtays, und I tought praps 
meppe I can do dot too, as I wride all apout vat dook blace 



DIALECT. 399 

mit me lasht summer; yon know — odor of you dond know, 
den I dells you — dot Katrina (dot is mine vrow) und me, ve 
keep some shickeus for a long dime ago, und von tay she 
sait to me: "Sockery" (dot is mein name), " vy dond you 
put some of de aigs unter dot olt plue hen shickens; I dinks 
she vants to sate." "Veil," I sait, " meppe I guess I vill;" 
so I bicked out some uf de best aigs und dook um oud do de 
parn fere de olt hen make her nesbt in de side of de hay- 
mow, pout five six veet up ; now, you see, I nefer vas ferry 
big up und town, but I vos putty pig all de vay around in 
de mittle, so I kood n't reach up dill I vent und get a parrel 
do stant on ; veil, I klimet on de parrel, und ven my hed 
rise up by de nesht, dot olt hen gif me such a bick dot 
my nose runs all cfer my face mit plood, und ven I todge 
pack dot plasted olt parrel he preak, und I vent town ker- 
shlam ; I did n't tink I kood go insite a parrel pefore, put 
dere I vos, und I fit so dite dot I kood n't get me oud effer- 
Avay; my fest vos bushed vay up my unter arm-holes. Ven I 
fount I vos dite shtuck, I holler ''Katrina! Katrina!" und 
ven she koom und see me shtuck in de parrel up to my arm- 
holes, mit my face all plood und aigs, she shust lait town on 
de hay und laft und laft, till I got so mat I sait, " Vot you 
lay dare und laf like a olt vool, eh? Vy dond you koom 
bull me oud?" und she set up und sait, "O vipe off your 
chin, und bull your -fest town ; " den she lait back und laft 
like she vood shblit herself more as efer. Mat as I vas, I 
tought to myself, Katrina, she sbeak English pooty goot, put 
I only sait mit my cratest dignitude, " Katrina, vill you bull 
me oud dis parrel?" und she see dot I look booty red, so she 
said, '*Uf course I vill, Sockery;" den she lait me und de 
parrel town on our site, und I dook holt de door sill, und 
Katrina she bull on de parrel, but de first bull she mate I 
yellet: "Donner und blitzen, shtop dat; dere is nails in de 
parrel ! " You see de nails bent town ven I vent in, but ven 
I koom oud dey schticks in me all de vay rount; veil, to 



400 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

make a short slitory long, I dold Katrina to go imd dell 
uayper Hausmau to pring a saw mid saw me dis parrel off; 
veil, he koom, und he like to shblit himself mit laf too, but 
he roll me ofer und saw de parrel all de vay around off, 
und I get up mit half a parrel around my vaist; den 
Katrina she say, " Sockery, vait a little till I get a battern 
uf dat new oferskirt you haf on;" put I didn't sait a vort. 
I shust got a nife oud und vittle de hoops off, und siding dot 
confountet olt parrel in de voot-pile. 

Pimeby, ven I koom in de house Katrina, she salt so soft 
like: "Sockery, don'd you goin' to but some aigs under dot 
olt plue hen?" Den I sait in my deepest woice, ** Katrina, 
uf you efer say dot to me again, I'll got a pill uf wriding 
from de lawyer from you," und I dell you she did ri't say 
dot any more. Veil, Mr. Verris, ven I shtep on a parrel 
now, I do n'd shtep on it, — I get a pox. sockery. 



THEOI.OGY IN THE QUARTERS. 

Now, I 's got a notion in my head dat when you come to die, 
An' Stan' de 'zamination in de cote-house in de sky. 
You'll be 'stonished at de questions dat de angel's gwine to ax 
AVhen he gits you on de witness stan' an' pin you to de fac's ; 

'Cause he'll ax you mighty closely 'bout your doin's in de night, 
An' de water-milion question's gwine to bodder you a sight! 
Den your eyes '11 open wider dan dey eber done befo', 
When he chats you 'bout a chicken-scrape dat happened long ago ! 

De angels on de picket-line erlong de Milky Way 
Keeps a-watchin' what you're dribin' at, an' hearin' what you say ; 
No matter what you want to do, no matter whar you's gwine, 
Dey's mighty ap' to find it out an' pass it 'long de line ; 

An' of 'en at de meetin', when you make a fuss an' laugh. 
Why, dey send de news a-kitin' by de golden telegraph ; 



DIALECT. 401 

Den de angel in de orfis, what's a-settin' by de gate, 
Jes' reads de message wid a look an' claps it on de slate! 

Den you better do your juty well, an' keep your conscience clear. 
An' keep a lookin' straight ahead an' watchin' whar you steer ; 
'Cause arter Avhile de time '11 come to journey from de Ian', 
An' dey'U take you way up in de a'r an' put you on de stan' ; 
Den you '11 hab to listen to de clerk, and answer mighty straight, 
Ef you ebber 'spec' to trabble froo de alaplaster gate ! 

J. A. MACON. 



PADDY'S EXCElvSIOR. 

'TwAs growing dark so terrible fasht, 
Whin through a town up the mountain there pashed 
A broth of a boy, to his neck in the shnow ; 
As he walked, his shillalah he swung to and fro. 
Saying : " It 's up to the top I 'm bound for to go, 
Be jabbers! " 

He looked mortal sad, and his eye was as bright 
As a fire of turf on a cowld winther night ; 
And niver a word that he said could ye tell 
As he opened his mouth and let out a jell : 
*' It 's up till the top of the mountain I '11 go, 
Onless covered up wid this bodthersome shnow. 
Be jabbers ! " 

Through the windows he saw, as he thraveled along, 
The light of the candles, and fires so warm 
But a big chunk of ice houng over his head ; 
AVid a shnivil and groan, "By St. Patrik ! " he said, 
" It 's up to the very tiptop I will rush, 
And then if it falls, it's not meself it'll crush, 
Be jabbers ! " 

" Whisht a bit," said an owld man, whose head was as white 
As the shnow that fell down on that miserable night; 
" Shure, ye'll fall in the wather, me bit of a lad, 
For the night is so dark and the walkin' is bad." 
Bedad ! he 'd not lisht to a word that was said. 
But he 'd go till the top, if he went on his head. 
Be jabbers 1 
34 



402 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

A bright, buxom young girl, such as loikes to be kissed, 
Axed him wouldn't he stop, and how could he resist? 
So, shnaj^ping his fingers and winking his eye, 
While shmiling u])on her, he made this reply: 
" Faith, I meant to kape on till I got to the top, 
But, as yer swate self has axed me, I may as well shtop 
Be jabbers ! " 

lie shtopped all night and he shtopped all day — 
And ye musn't be axing whin he did go away ; 
Fur would n't he be a bastely gossoon 
To be laving his darlint in the swate honey-moon ? 
AVhen the owld man has peraties enough, and to spare, 
Shure he moight as well shtay if he's comfortable there. 
Be jabbers ! 



SUNDAY FISHIN'. 

Heyo ! you niggers, dah, I like ter know 
Wut dat you up to yere! "Well, toe be sho! 
Ef you ain't fishin' on de good Lawd's day, 
Des like you done gone clah forgit de way 
Up to de meetin'-'ouse ! Yere, come erlong 
Er me, en I '11 show you de place you b'long. 

I tells you wut, boys, dish yere chile is had 

Speunce er Sunday fishin', en he glad 

Dat he 's alive ! De las' time dat I broke 

De Sabbaf-day dis way, it wa'n't no joke — 

You heered me now ! Dat wuz de time, you know, 

I ketched de debble, en I thought, fer sho, 

Dat he 'd ketch me ! 

You see, dish yere de way 
It wuz : I tuck my pole one Sabbaf-day 
En went down to de river, at de place 
Wut I kep' baited, up above de race. 

Dey useter be a little dogwood-tree 

Up on de bank, jess big ernough fer me 

To set en fish in ; en I useter chme — 

Into it alluz in high-w^ater time. 

It growed right on de steep bank's aidge, en lent 

'Wav out alx)ve de water. Wen I went 



DIALECT. 403 

ITp dah dat day de muddy ribber den 

Had riz en oberflowed 'bout nine or ten 

Feet t'uni de bank, en so I tuck en role 

My breeches up, en waded wid my pole ■ 

Out to de tree, en clime into de fawk, 

En 'gin ter fish. ' T^ya' nt long 'fo' my cawk 

Duckt clear outer sight ; 

Den I felt de pole jerk mos' away. 

I belt on to dat pole, but ' twa'n't no mortal use — 
Dat fish wuz boun' to make sump'n come loose. 
I had a monstrous strong, big cat-fish line. 
En so I tuck en fix my legs, en I twine 
Em roun' dat tree en froze on to de pole, 
Termint to swing 'twell sump'n loos' der hoi'. 

But Laws-a-massy, ' twan't no yethly use ; 

Fo* long I felt dat are tree a-givin' loos' ; 

En treckly down she come, sho' enough, kerfiop, 

Into de bilin' water, me on top, 

Yes, sir, right in de ribber; den dat thing 

Wut I done ketched, hit gib a sudden swing, 

En 'way hit tuck straight down de streaui, wid me 

Er follerin' atter, a settin' on de tree! 

Sakes, how we trabbled ! en 'z we rolled along, 

Hit struck me all to wunst sump'n 'uz wrong 

Erbout dat fish ! He wuz a pow'ful sight 

Too peart. 

De fus' thing wut I thought I better do 

Wuz tu'n aloose dat pole ; but, thinks 1, " Shoo 

I could n't fool him dat away, en he 

Mout tu'n loose, too, en grab aholt er me." 

Putty quick 
I seed out in de river, right ahead, 
Joe Taylor's fish-trap, en de good Lawd led 
Us long up side it, en you mighty right, 
I jumpt on to it mighty free en light ; 
En ]\rr. Smarty Nick, wid his ole tree, 
Sailed on, a-thinkin' still he haulin' me! 
Dat 's wut de uiatter ! 

Niggers, dat de way 
I quit dis fishin' on de Sabbaf-day. 



404 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

Dah aint no pole ermong yo' all I 'd tech; 
En if you aint a-hankerin' to ketch 
Sump'n you did n't barg'n for, I lay 
You better put dem hooks en lines away. 

Fer members uv de Church, dish yere gits me! 
Uv all de owdacious doin's I ever see, 
Dis tak'n' de Sabbaf-day in vain's de wuss 
Fer mortifyin' de morals uv — You Gus! 
Look at dat bite you got! Law bless de Lam', 
He 's a joedahter! Look out dah, doe jam 
Dat pole up dah! You trine, peahs like to me, 
To knock de fish f uni ott' dat 'simmon-tree. 

Now look! Doe jerk dat way! Law love iny soul, 
You gwiner lose 'im! Yere, gimme dat pole; 
I '11 show you how to Ian' 'im ! Stiddy, now — 
Pulls like a cat-fish. Hit 's de boss, I vow! 
Des wait a minute ; one mo' pull is boun' 
To git 'im. Dah he is, safe on de groun'. 

Haint he a whopper, dough! Hoo-wee! I lay 
Y' all dat ah fish dis blessid day 'ull weigh 
'Bout forty — Laws-a-massy ! ef I aint 
Done broke de Sabbaf 'fo' I knowed it! 'Taint 
No use to laugh— you reckon I wuz gwine 
Ter let dat fish take off dis pole en line ? 

ANONYMOUS. 



IMPERSONATION. 



EVENING AT THE FARM. 

Over the hill the farm-boy goes ; 
His shadow lengthens along the land, 
A giant staff in a giant hand ; 
In the poplar-tree, above the spring, 
The katydi 1 begins to sing ; 

The early dews are falling ; 
Into the stone-heap darts the mink ; 
The swallows skim the river's brink ; 



IMPERSONATION. 405 

And home to the woodland fly the crows, 
When over the hill the farm-boy goes, 
Cheerily calling, 

" Co', boss ! co', boss ! co' ! co' ! co' ! " 
Farther, farther, over the hill, 
Faintly calling, calling still, 

"Co', boss! co', boss! co' ! co' ! co' ! " 
Into the yard the farmer goes. 
With grateful heart, at the close of day ; 
Harness and chain are hung away ; 
In the wagon-shed stand yoke and plow; 
The straw 's in the stack, the hay in the mow, 

The cooling dews are falling; 
The friendly sheep his welcome bleat, 
The pigs come grunting to his feet. 
The whinnying mare her master knows, 
When into the yard the farmer goes. 
His cattle calling: 

" Co', boss ! co', boss ! co' ! co' ! co' ! " 
While still the cow-boy, far away, 
Goes seeking those that have gone astray — 

" Co', boss ! co', boss ! co' ! co' ! " 

Now to her task the milkmaid goes ; 

The cattle come crowding through the gate. 

Lowing, pushing, little and great ; 

About the trough, by the farm-yard pump. 

The frolicksome yearlings frisk and jump. 

While the pleasant dews are falling; 
The new milch-heifer is quick and shy, 
But the old cow waits with tranquil eye, 
And the white stream into the bright pail flows, 
When to her task the milkmaid goes. 

Soothingly calling: 
"So, boss! SO; boss! so! so! so!" 
The cheerful milkmaid takes her stool. 
And sits and milks in the twilight cool, 
Saying, "So! so, boss! so! so!" 

To supper at last the farmer goes ; 
The apples are pared, the paper read, 
The stories are told, then all to bed. 
Without, the crickets' ceaseless song 



406 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

Makes shrill the silence all night long ; 

The heavy dews are falling. 
The housewife's hand has turned the lock; 
Drowsily ticks the kitchen clock ; 
The household sinks to deep repose, 
But still in sleep the farm-boy goes, 

Singing, calling: 
*'Co', boss! co', boss! co' ! co' ! co'! " 
And oft the milkmaid, in her dreams, 
Drums in the pail with the flashing streams, 
Murmuring, " So, boss ! so ! " 

J. T. TROWBRIDGE. 



THE CHARCOAI. MAN. 

Though rudely blows the wintry blast, 
And sifting snows fall white and fast, 
Mark Haley drives along the street, 
Perched high upon his wagon-seat; 
His somber face the storm defies, 
And thus from morn till eve he cries: 

" Charco' ! charco' ! " 
While echo faint and far replies : 

"Hark, O! hark, ! " 
" Charco' ! " — '* Hark, O !" — such cheery sounds 
Attend him on his daily rounds. 

The dust begrimes his ancient hat, 

His coat is darker far than that; 

'T is odd to see his sooty form 

All speckled Avith the feathery storm; 

Yet in his honest bosom lies 

Nor spot, nor speck, though still he cries : 

" Charco' ! charco' ! " 
And many a roguish lad replies : 

"Ark, ho ! ark, ho ! " 
" Charco' ! " " Ark, ho ! ^'— such various sounds 
Announce Mark Haley's morning rounds. 

Thus all the cold and wintry day 
He labors much for little pay ; 
Yet feels no less of happiness 
Than many a richer man, I guess. 



IMPERSONATION. 407 

WTien through the shades of eve he spies 
The hght of his own home and cries: 

" Charco' ! charco' ! " 
And Martha from, the door replies : 

"Mark, ho! Mark, ho!" 
"Charco' ! " " Mark, ho ! "—such joy abounds 
When he lias closed his daily rounds. 

The hearth is warm, the fire is bright, 

And while his hand, washed clean and white. 

Holds Martha's tender hand once more, 

His glowing face bends fondly o'er 

The crib wherein his darling lies, 

And in a coaxing tone he cries : 

" Charco' ! charco' ! " 
And the baby with a laugh replies : 

"Ah, go! ah, go!" 
" Charco' ! " "Ah, go ! " — while at the sounds 
The mother's heart with gladness bounds. 

Then honored be the charcoal man ! 

Though dusky as an African, 

'T is not for you, that chance to be 

A little better clad than he, 

His honest manhood to despise. 

Although from morn till eve he cries : 

" Charco' ! charco' ! " 
AYhile mocking echo still replies : 

" Hark, O ! hark, O ! " 
" Charco' ! " " Hark, ! " — long may the sounds 
Proclaim Mark Haley's daily rounds ! 

J. T. TROWBRIDGE. 



THE SPANISH DUEL. 

Near the city of Sevilla, 
Years and years ago, 
Dwelt a lady in a villa 
Years and years ago ; 
And her hair was black as night, 
And her eyes were starry bright ; 



408 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

Olives on her brow were blooming, 

Roses red her lips perfuming, 

And her step was light and airy 

As the tripping of a fairy ; 

When she spoke, you thought, each minute, 

'T was the thrilling of a linnet ! 

Orphaned both of sire and mother 

Dwelt she in that lonely villa, 
Absent now her guardian brother 

On a mission from Sevilia. 
Skills it httle now the telling 

How I wooed that maiden fair; 
Tracked her to her lonely dwelling, 

And obtained an entrance there. 

Ah! that lady of the villa! 

And I loved her so, 
Near the city of Sevilla, 

Years and years ago. 

Ay de mi ! — Like echoes falling 

Sweet and sad and low, 
Voices came at night, recalling 

Years and years ago. 

Seated half within a bower, 

Where the languid evening breeze 

Shook out odors in a shower 

From oranges and citron-trees. 

Sang she from a romancero, 

How a Moorish chieftain bold 

Fought a Spanish caballero 
By Sevilla' s walls of old ; 

How they battled for a lady, 

Fairest of the maids of Spain ; 

How the Christian's lance, so steady, 

Pierced the Moslem through the brain. 

Then she ceased — her black eyes moving. 
Flashed, as asked she with a smile: 

"Say, are maids as fair and loving — 
Men as faithful, in your isle?" 



IMPERSONATION. 409 

" British maids," I said, " are ever 

Counted fairest of the fair ; 
Like the swans on yonder river 

Moving with a stately air. 

Wooed not quickly, won not lightly — 

But, when won, forever true ; 
Trial draws the bond more tightly ; 

Time can ne'er the knot undo." 

"And the men?"— "Ah! dearest lady, 

Are — quien sabe? — who can say? 
To make love they 're ever ready, 

Where they can and where they may ; 
Fixed ^s waves, as breezes steady 

In a changeful April day — 
Como brisas, como rios. 
No se sabe, sabe Dios." 

"Are they faithful ? "—"Ah ! quien sabe ? 

Who ean answer that they are ? 
While we may, we should be happy." 

Then I took up her guitar, 
And I sang in sportive strain. 
This song to an old air of Spain. 

"QUIEN SABE." 

I. 

" The breeze of the evening that cools the hot air, 
That kisses the orange and shakes out thy hair, 
Is its freshness less welcome, less sweet its perfume. 
That yon know not the region from w^hich it is come? 
Whence the wind blows, where the wind goes, 
Hither and thither and whither — who knows? 

Who knows? 
Hither and thither — but whither — who knows? 



The river forever glides singing along. 
The rose on the bank bends adown to its song; 
And the flower, as it listens, unconsciously dips, 
Till the rising wave glistens and kisses its lips. 
3i 



410 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

But why the wave rises and kisses the rose, 

And why the rose stoops for those kisses — who knows ? 

Who knows? 
And away flows the river — but whither — who knows? 



Let me he the breeze, love, that wanders along 

The river that ever rejoices in song ; 

Be thou to my fancy the orange in bloom, 

The rose by the river that gives its perfume. 

Would the fruit be so golden, so fragrant the rose. 

If no breeze and no wave were to kiss them ? Who knows ? 

AVho knows ? 
If no breeze and no wave were to kiss them? Who knows?" 

As I sang the lady listened, 

Silent save one gentle sigh ; 
When I ceased, a tear-drop glistened 

On the dark fringe of her eye. 

Then my heart reproved the feeling 

Of that false and heartless strain, 
Which I sang in words concealing 

What my heart would liide in vain. 

Up I sprang. What words were uttered 

Bootless now to think or tell ; 
Tongues speak wild when hearts are fluttered, 

By the mighty master spell. 

Words half- vague and passion-broken, 

Meaningless, yet meaning all 
That the lips have left unspoken, 

That we never may recall. 

"Magdalena, dearest, hear me," 

Sighed I, as I seized her hand — 
" Hola, Senor! " very near me, 

Cries a voice of stern command. 

And a stalwart caballero 

Comes upon me with a stride. 
On his head a slouched sombrero, 

A toledo hv his side. 



IMPERSONATION. • 411 

From his breast he flung his capa 

With a stately Spanish air; 
On the whole, he looked the chap a 

Man to slight would scarcely dare. 

" "Will your worship have the goodness 

To release that lady's hand ? " 
" Seiior," I replied, '■ this rudeness 

I am not prepared to stand. 

Magdalena, say" — the maiden, 

With a cry of wild surprise, 
As with secret sorrow laden, 

Fainting, sank before my eyes. 

Then the Spanish caballero 

Bowed with haughty courtesy, 
Solemn as a tragic hero. 

And announced himself to me : 

"Senor, I am Don Camillo 
Guzman Miguel Pedrillo 
De Xymenes y Ribera 

Y Santallos y Herrera 

Y de Rivas y INIendoza 

Y Quintana y de Rosa 

Y Zorilla y " — " No more, sir, 

'T is as good as twenty score, sir," 

Said I to him, with a frown; 
" !Mucha bulla para nada, 
No palabras, draw your 'spada ; 
If you 're up for a duello 
You will find I 'm just your fellow — 

Senor, I am Peter Brown ! " 

By the river's brink that night. 

Foot to foot in strife, 
Fought we in the dubious light 

A fight of death or life. 
Don Camillo slashed my shoulder; 
With the pain I grew the bolder; 

Close, and closer still I pressed ! 
Fortune favored me at last; 
I broke his guard, my weapon passed 

Through the caballero's breast. 



412 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

Down to the earth went Don Camillo 
Guzman Miguel Pedrillo 
De Xymenes y Ribera 

Y Santallos y Herrera 

Y de Rivas y Mendoza 

Y Quintana y de Rosa 

Y Zorilhi y— One groan, 
And he lay motionless as stone. 

The man of many names went down, 
Pierced by the sword of Peter Brown I 

Kneeling down I raised his head; 
The caballero faintly said : 
" Senor Ingles, fly from 8pain 
AVith all speed, for you have slain 
A Spanish noble, Don Camillo 
Guzman IMiguel Pedrillo 
De Xymenes y Ribera 

Y Santallos y Herrera 

Y de Rivas y Mendoza 

Y Quintana y de Rosa 

Y Zorilla y " — He swooned 
With the bleeding of his wound. 
If he be living still or dead, 

I never knew, I ne'er shall know. 
That night from Spain in haste I tied, 
Years and years ago. 

Oft when autumn eve is closing, 

Pensive, puffing a cigar, 
As I sit alone, reposing. 
Musing half, and half a-dozing, 

Comes a vision from afar 
Of that lady of the villa 
In her satin-fringed mantilla, 
And that haughty caballero 
With his capa and sombrero. 
And I vainly keep revolving 

That long-jointed, endless name; 
'T is a riddle past my solving 

Who he was, or whence he came. 
Was he that brother home returned ? 
Was he some former lover spurned ? 



IMPERSONATION. 413 

Or some family fiance 
That the lady did not fancj^ ? 
Was he any one of those ? 
Sabe Dios. Ah ! God knows ! 

Sadly smoking my manilla, 

Much I long to know 
How fares the lady of the villa 

That once charmed me so, 
When I visited Sevilla 

Years and years ago. 
Has she married a Hidalgo? 
Gone the way that ladies all go 
In those drowsy Spanish cities, 
Wasting life — a thousand pities — 
Waking up for a fiesta 
From an afternoon siesta, 
To "Giralda" now repairing, 
Or the Plaza for an airing; 
Does she walk at evenings ever 
Through the gardens by the river? 
Guarded by an old duenna 
Fierce and sharp as a hyena, 
With her goggles and her fan, 
AVarning ofiT each wicked man ? 
Is she dead or is she living? 
Is she for my absence grieving ? 
Is she wretched? is she happy? 
Widow, wife, or maid ? Quien sahc f 

J. I. WALLER. 

THE OLD MAN IN THE MODEE CHURCH. 

Well, wife, I 've found the model church ! I worshiped there 

to-day ! 
It made me think of good old times, before my hairs w^ere gray ; 
The meetin'-house was fixed up more than they were years ago, 
But then I felt, when I went in, it was n't built for show. 

The sexton did n't seat me away back by the door ; 
He knew that I was old and deaf, as well as old and poor; 
He must have been a Christian, for he led me boldly througli 
The long aisle of that crowded church to find a pleasant pew. 



414 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

I wish you 'd heard the singin' ; it liad the old-time ring; 

The preacher said, with trumpet voice : '' Let all the people 

sing!" 
The tune was " Coronation," and the music upward rolled. 
Till I thought I heard the angels striking all their harps of gold. 

My deafness seemed to melt away ; my spirit caught the fire ; 
I joined my feeble, trembling voice wdth that melodious choir. 
And sang as in my youthful days: "Let angels prostrate fall; 
Bring forth the royal diadem, and crown him Lord of all." 

I tell you, wife, it did me good to sing that hymn once more ; 
I felt like some wrecked mariner who gets a glimpse of shore ; 
I almost wanted to lay down this weather-beaten form. 
And anchor in that blessed port, forever from the storm. 

The preachin'? AVell I can 't just tell all that the preacher said; 
I know it was n't written ; I know it was n't read ; 
He had n't time to read it, for the lightnin' of his eye 
Went fiashin' 'long from pew to pew, nor passed a sinner by. 

The sermon was n't flowery ; 't was simple gospel truth ; 
It fitted poor old men like me ; it fitted hopeful youth ; 
*T was full of consolation for wx'ary hearts that bleed ; 
'T was full of invitations to Christ, and not to creed. 

How swift the golden moments fled within that holy place ! 
How brightly beamed the light of heaven from every happy face ! 
Again I longed for that sweet time when friend shall meet with 

friend ; 
"When congregations ne'er break up, and Sabbath has no end." 

I hope to meet that minister — that congregation, too — 

In that dear home beyond the stars that shine from heaven's 

blue; 
I doubt not I '11 remember, beyond life's evenin' gray, 
That happy hour of worship in that model church to-day. 

Dear wife, the fight will soon be fought — the victory soon be won ; 
The shinin' goal is just ahead ; the race is nearly run ; 
O'er the river we are nearin', they are throngin' to the shore. 
To shout our safe arrival where the weary weep no more, 

JOHN H. YATES. 



IMPERSONATION. 415 



THE OLD MAN AND JIM. 

Old man never had much to say, 

'Ceptin' to Jim ; 
And Jim was the wildest boy he had, 

And the old man jes' wrapj3ed np in him ! 
Never heerd him speak but once 
Er twice in my life — and first time was 
When the army broke out, and Jim he went, 
The old man backin' him, for three months. 
And all 'at I heerd the old man say 
AVas, jes' as we turned to start away: 

"Well, good-bye, Jim; 

Take keer of yourse'f " 

'Feared like he was more satisfied 

Jes' lookin' at Jim, 
And likin' him all to hisse'f-like, see? 

'Cause he was jes' wrapped up in him! 
And over and over I mind the day 
The old man came and stood round in the way 
While we was drillin', a-watchin' Jim, 
And down at the depot a-heerin' him say : 

" Well, good-bye, Jim ; 

Take keer of yourse'f ! " 

Never was nothin' about the farm 

Disting'ished Jim ; 
Neighbors all uset to wonder Avhy 

The old man 'peared wrapped up in him ; 
But when Cap Biggler he writ back 

'At Jim was the bravest boy we had 
In the whole dern regiment, white or black, 

And his fightin' good as his farmin' bad — 
'At he had led, with a bullet clean 

Bored through his thigh, and carried the flag 
Through the bloodiest battle you ever seen. 
The old man wound up a letter to him 
'At Cap read to us, 'at said : " Tell Jim 

Good-bye , 

And take keer of hisse'f ! " 



416 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. ' 

Jim come back jes' long enough 

To take the whim 
'At he 'd hke to go back in calvery— 

And tlie old man jes' wrapped up in him? 
Jim 'lowed 'at he 'd had sich luck afore, 
Guessed he 'd tackle her three years more. 
And the old man gave him a colt he 'd raised, 

And follered him over to Camp Ben Wade, 
And laid around fer a week er so, 

Watchin' Jim on dress-parade — 
Tel finally he rid away. 
And last he heerd w'as the old man say : 

" Well, good-bye, Jim ; 

Take keer of yourse'f ! " 

Tuk the papers, the old man did, 

A-watchin' fer Jim — 
Fully believin' he 'd make his mark 

Some way — jes' wrapped up in liim! 
And many a time the word 'u'd come 
'At stirred him up like the tap of a drum — 
At Petersburg, fer instance, where 
Jim rid right into their cannons tliere. 
And tuk 'em, and p'inted 'em t' other way 
And socked it home to the boys in gray 
As they skooted fer timber, and on and on — 
Jim a lieutenant and one arm gone, 
And the old man's words in his mind all day: 

" Well, good-bye, Jim ; 

Take keer of yourse'f ! *' 
Think of a private, now perhaps, 

AVe '11 say like Jim, 
'At 's dumb clean up to the shoulder-straps — 

.And the old man jes' wrapped up in him ! — 
Think of him — with the war plum' through. 
And the glorious old Red-white-and-blue 
A-laughin' the news down over Jim 
And the old man bendin' over him — 
The surgeon turnin' away with tears 
'At had n't leaked fer years and years-^- 
As the hand of the dyin' boy clung to 
His father's, the old voice in his ears: 

*' Well, good-bye, Jim ; 

Take keer of yourse'f! " 

JAMES WIIITCOMB RILEY, 



IMPEBSONA TION. All 



TOMMY TAFT. 

On the first day of March it was, that Tommy Taft had 
been unquietly sleeping in the forenoon, to make np for a 
disturbed night. The little noisy clock, that regarded itself 
as the essence of a Yankee, and ticked with immense alac- 
rity and struck in the most bustling and emphatic manner; 
this industrious and moral clock began striking whir-r-r, one; 
whir-r-r, two ; whir-r-r, three (Tommy jerked his head a lit- 
tle, as if something vexed him in his sleep); whir-r-r, four; 
whir-r-r, five; whir-r-r, six (''Keep still, will ye? let me 
alone, old Avoman ! confound your medicine"); whir-r-r, 
seven; whir-r-r, eight ("God in heaven! as sure as I 
live," said Tommy, rubbing his eyes as if to make sure 
that they saw aright) ; whir-r-r, nine ; whir-r-r, ten ! 
Then, holding out his arms with the simplicity of a child, 
his face fairly glowing with joy, and looking now really 
noble, he cried: "Barton — my boy, Barton — I knew you 
would n't let the old man die and not help him ! I knew 
it! I knew it!" 

After the first surprise of joy subsided, Tommy pushed 
Barton from the edge of his bed. "Stand up, boy; turn 
round! There he is! Now I'm all right. Got my pilot 
aboard ; sealed orders ; ready to sail the minit the hawser 's 
let go." 

After a few words about his return from the West, his 
health and prospects, the old man returned to the subject 
that seemed to lie nearest his heart. "They've all had a 
hand at me, Barton. There 's twenty firms in this town that 
is willin' to give a feller sailin' orders, when they see he 's 
out'ard bound. But I am an old salt — I know my owners ! " 
said Tommy, with an affectionate wink at Barton. "Ah, 
Diy boy, you 're back again ; it 's all right now. Do n't you 
let me go wrong. I want you to tell me just where you 're 
goin', and I'll bear right up for that port. You know, 
Barton, I never cheated you when you was a boy. I took 



418 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

care of ye, and never told you a lie in my life, and never 
got you in a scrape. You wo n't cheat an old man now, 
will ye?" 

It was all that Barton could do to maintain his self- 
possession. Tears and smiles kept company on his face. 
"My dear old Tommy, we won't part company. We're 
both bound to the same land. God will, I fervently hope, 
for Christ's sake, forgive all our sins, and make us meet for 
everlasting life." 

"Amen!" roared out the old man. "Go on. You 
really believe in it? Come here. Barton; sit down on the 
edge of the bed, look me in the face, and no flummery. Do 
you really believe that there's another world?" 

"I do, Tommy; I believe it in my very soul." 

"That's enough. I believe it, too, jest as sartin as if a 
shipmate had told me about an island I'd nev^er seen, but 
he had. Now, Barton, give me the beariu's of 't. D'ye 
believe that there 's a Lord that helps a poor feller to it ? '* 

"I do. Christ loves me and you, and all of us. He 
saves all who trust in him." 

" He do n't stand on particulars, then? He won't rip up 
all a feller's old faults, will he? Or, how's that? Don't 
you ease up on me, Barton, just to please me; but tell me 
the hardest on 't. I believe every word you say." 

Barton's own soul had traveled on the very road on which 
Tommy was now walking, and remembering his own experi- 
ence, he repeated to Tommy these words: "He wull turn 
again, he will have compassion upon us; he will subdue our 
iniquities; and thou wilt cast aH their sins into the depths 
of the sea." (Micah vii, 19.) 

"Now, that's to the p'int. Barton. The Lord will tumble 
a feller's sins overboard like rubbish, or bilge-water and the 
like, when a ship is in the middle of the ocean? Well, it 
would puzzle a feller to find 'em agin after that. Is that 
all? I'm to report to him?" 

"Yes, Tommy ; you are to report to God." 



IMPERSONATION. 419 

" Barton, would ye jest as lief do me a little favor 
as not?" 

-What is it, Taft?" 

" Would ye mind sayin' a little prayer for me — it makes 
no difference, of course — but jest a line of introduction in a 
foreign port sometimes helps a feller amazingly." 

Barton knelt by the bedside and prayed. Without re- 
flecting at the moment on Uncle Tommy's particular wants, 
Barton was following in prayer the line of his own feelings, 
when suddenly he felt Tommy's finger gently poking his 
head. "I say, Barton, ain't you steerin' a p'int or two off 
the course ? I do n't seem to follow you." A few earnest, 
simple petitions followed, which Taft seemed to relish. 
''Lord, forgive Tommy Taft's sins! ('Now you've hit it,' 
said the old man, softly.) Prepare him for thy kingdom. 
(' Yes, and Barton, too ! ') May he feel thy love, and trust 
his soul in thy sacred keeping. ('Ah, ha! that's it; you're 
in the right spot now.') Give him peace while he lives. 
('No matter about that; the doctor '11 give me opium for 
that! go on.') And, at his death, save his soul in thy 
kingdom, for Christ's sake. Amen !" 

' ' Amen ! But did n't you coil it away rather too quick ? 
Now, Barton, my boy, you've done a good thing. I've been 
waitin' for you all winter, and you did n't come a minit too 
soon. I 'm tired now ; but I want to say one thing. Barton, 
when I'm gone, you won't let the old woman suffer? She 's 
had a pretty hard time of it with me. I knew you would. 
One thing more. Barton," said the old man, his voice sinking 
almost to a whisper, as if speaking a secret from the bottom 
of his soul, "Barton, you know I never had much money. 
I never laid up any — could n't. Now you won't let'me come 
on to the town for a funeral ; will ye ? I should hate to be 
buried in a pine coffin, at town expense, and have folks 
laugh that didn't dare open their head to me when I was 
round town ! " 

Barton could not forbear smiling as the old man, growing 



420 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

visibly feebler every hour, went ou revealing traits which his 
sturdy pride had covered when he was in health. 

*'And, Barton, I wish you'd let the children come when 
I'm buried. They'll come, if you'll jest let 'em know. 
Always trust the children. And," pain here checked his 
utterance for a moment, " let 's see — what was I saying? O, 
the children. I do n't want nothin' said. But if you 'd jest 
as lief let the children sing one of their hymns, I should 
relish it." 

The color came suddenly to his cheek, and left as sud- 
denly. He pressed his hand upon his heart, and leaned his 
head further over on his pillow, as if to wait till the pang 
passed. It seemed long. Barton rose and leaned over him. 
The old man opened his eyes, and, with a look of ineffable 
longing, whispered : *' Farewell ! " 

A faint smile dwelt about his mouth ; his face relaxed 
and seemed to express happiness in its rugged features. But 
the old man was not there. Without sound of wings or 
footfall he had departed on his last journey. 

BEECHER. 

THE WOUNDED SOI.DIER. 

Let me lie down, 
Just here in the shade of this cannon-torn tree; 
Here, low on the trampled grass, where I may see 
The surge of the combat ; and where I may hear 
The glad cry of victory, cheer upon cheer ; 

Let me lie down. 

O, it was grand ! 
Like the tempest we charged, in the triumph to share; 
The tempest— its fury and thunder were there; 
On, on, o'er intrenchments, o'er living and dead, 
With the foe under foot and our flag overhead— 

0, it was grand ! 

Weary and faint. 
Prone on the soldier's couch ; ah ! how can I rest 
With this shot-shattered head and snber-pierced breast? 



IMPERSONATION. 421 

Comrades, at roll-call, when I shall be sought. 
Say I fought till I fell, and fell where I fought, 
Wounded and faint. 

O, that last charge ! 
Eight through the dread hell-fire of shrapnel and shell ; 
Through without faltering — clear through with a yell; 
Right in their midst, in the turmoil and gloom, 
Like heroes we dashed at the mandate of doom ; 

O, that last charge ! 

It was duty ! 
Some things are worthless, and some others so good, 
That nations who buy them pay only in blood ; 
For Freedom and Union each man owes this part, 
And here I pay my share all warm from my heart, 

It is duty ! 

Dying at last! 
My mother, dear mother, with meek, tearful eye. 
Farewell ! and God bless you, forever and aye ! 
O, that I now lay on your pillowing breast, 
To breathe my last sigh on the bosom first prest. 

Dying at last ! 

I am no saint; 
But, boys, say a prayer. There 's one that begins, 
" Our Father," and then says, " Forgive us our sins ; " 
Do n't forget that part, say that strongly, and then 
I '11 try to repeat it, and you '11 say, " Amen ! " 

Ah ! I 'm no saint. 

Hark ! there 's a shout. 
Raise me up, comrades ! We have conquered, I know ! — 
Up, on my feet, with my face to the foe ! 
Ah ! there flies the flag, with its star-spangles bright. 
The promise of glory, the symbol of right ! 

Well may they shout ! 

I'm mustered out. 
O, God of our fathers, our freedom prolong. 
And tread down rebellion, oppression, and wrong! 
O, land of earth's hope, on thy blood-reddened sod, 
I die for the Nation, the Union, and God! 

I 'm mustered out. 



[ 



422 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

THE DRIVER'S CHRISTMAS. 

" Yes, sir, it is a pleasant time, as you say, for many 
folks, and it is a good work for those who liave their fill of 
happiness and to spare, to look them up that are less fortu- 
nate. It seems now to me as if I never want to hear of 
Christmas and its pleasures, without wishing myself dead! 
*'You see it's only one man's experience, but there's 
plenty like it in the world. No, I do n't mind telling you ; 
it can't make it any harder. Kitty — that's my wife, sir — 
and I were young and strangers when we came out West to 
start in life, and she was kind of delicate and not used to 
roughing it, while I was a farmer's son and was more accus- 
tomed to hard fare. I never could tell how Kitty loved me 
first, or why she ever loved me at all, poor girl; but we were 
in love with each other from the time we attended the di&ulct 
school together, and I was only too happy when she really 
promised to be my wife; and, though her folks were unwilling 
and looked for some city chap to make a lady of her — she 
was one always, God bless her — we were married at last 
with their full consent, and came West to live. 

" May be you have heard of misfortune following a man, 
sir; well, I was that man. We had enough between us to 
start a neat little business, and were getting on nicely, when, 
in one night, it all burned down, and not a penny of insur- 
ance. Then I got a situation in a store, and baby Kitty was 
born and died, and that made my wife low-spirited, and she 
was not over-strong ; and last winter, you will remember, was 
a hard one. I wanted her to go home and stay a bit, and 
be nursed well by her folks ; but my dear girl smiled, and 
put one thin arm around my neck, and asked, * Do you want 
me to go, Dick?' and I saw she had cast in her lot with me 
for better or for worse, and it did seem as if it was all worse.'* 
There was a long silence, during which the driver flicked 
the ears of the leaders with his whip, and looked sad and 
thoughtful, and the passenger on the box wondered if he 



IMPERSONATION. 423 

would get home in time for Christmas, and if the driver wap 
hurrying for him or on his own account to meet Kitty, and 
he said at last : 

" You got out of the woods all right, did you?" 

" O, it was about last Christmas I was telling you, sir 
wasn't it? At least, that's what led to it. Well, just as I 
was getting on my feet again, I took down with rheumatic 
fever, and for two months I never walked a step, and all 
that time Kitty took care of me. When I got up I noticed 
the furniture was all gone but the bed I lay on, a table, and 
stove, and Kitty was as thin as a ghost. There never was 
such a brave little girl. She declared she would not ask for 
help from strangers; and as to writing home of her trouble, 
she never would do it. I knew, sir, some help must be had, 
and I wrote a plain statement of the case to my father, and 
asked for money enough to help me start fresh, and I didn't 
tell Kitty. It broke my heart to see her looking so wretched, 
and her love and care for me were like a reproach ; but I 
got out at last, and then, sir, she took to her bed just worn 
out. The first day I was able to be on the street I went to 
the man that owns these horses, and the proprietor of the 
biggest livery in town, and said to him: 

" ' For God's sake, give me a job! ' 

*' I knew him a little, you see, and if he had guessed I was 
hard up he'd have helped me sooner; but that was my pride. 

*' 'Come down to-morrow evening and I'll talk to you,' 
he said, and I knew then he'd help me on my feet again. 

'*The next day Kitty slept most of the day, but when it 
came time to go out I roused her up a bit to tell her what 
I was going for. She smiled kind of sad, and put her thin 
arms — O, so thin they were — round my neck. 

"'Dear old fellow!' she said, 'you've had a hard time 
of it; kiss me, Dick, and tell me again that you love me!' 

"That went through my heart like a knife; but I 
smoothed her curls back from her white forehead, and told 
her to cheer up, better times were coming. 



424 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

'"What day is this?' she asked, kind of solemn-like. 

" ' It's the day before Christmas,' I said, * and I'm going 
to have a feast to-night when I come back. It's Christmas 
Eve, and you shall hang up your stocking, Kitty ; wait and 
see what I '11 bring back to you ! ' 

"She smiled a little and reached both hands around my 
neck. 

*' 'Kiss me good-night,' she said, 'or good-bye!* 

"'I'll kiss you for luck, my baby,' I cried, 'and now 
just go to sleep till I get back with the good things I'm 
going after.' 

" She lay looking at the moonlight, and I drew the thin 
old quilt and her own shawl close about her to keep her 
warm — for there was hardly a coal of fire left — and went out 
whistling to keep her courage up, and my own too. I went 
first to the post-office, where the evening mail was being dis- 
tributed to a crowd — letters, presents ; something, it seemed, 
for every body, but for me there was nothing. The livery 
proprietor was my only hope. What if he failed ? 

" AVell, sir, he did not; he gave me work to begin on the 
next week when I was stronger, and he handed me a week's 
pay in advance. On my way back something prompted me 
to look in at the post-office again, and there was my letter; 
it had been overlooked in the hurry, and my father had 
sent me what I asked for, with a line of good cheer besides. 
I was Dearly crazy with joy and excitement ; but I stopped 
long enough to fill a basket with good things and to order 
more for the next day. When I got home our poor room 
was all in a glory with the moonlight, and that and the bells 
ringing made it so solemn that I quieted down into a feeling 
of thankfulness, and I did n't wait to get a light, but went 
and sat down on the bed by Kitty, and said : 

"'Wake up, my girl! Our luck has changed. I've 
got work and money, and our troubles are all over, Kitty, 
darling. Wake up, pet, and see what I've brought you' — 
and — and ^" 



IMPERSONATION. 425 

''Well!" said the passenger, drawing a long breath, as 

the man paused, "go on; and — and " 

"Kitty was dead, sir ! " mrs. m. l. eayne. 



THE BLACKSMITH'S STORY. 

AVell, no ! my wife ain't dead, sir, but I 've lost her all the same ; 
She left me voluntarily, and neither was to blame. 
It 's rather a queer story, and I think you will agree — 
When you hear the circumstances— 't was rather rough on me. 

She was a soldier's widow. He was killed at Malvern Hill ; 
And when I married her she seemed to sorrow for him still ; 
But I brought her here to Kansas, and I never want to see 
A better wife than Mary was for five bright years to me. 

The change of scene brought cheerfulness, and soon a rosy glow 
Of happiness warmed Mary's cheeks and melted all their snow. 
I think she loved me some — I' m bound to think that of her, sir; 
And as for me — I can 't begin to tell how I loved her ! 

Three years ago the baby came our humble home to bless ; 
r^nd then I reckon I was nigh to perfect happiness; 
'T was hers — 'twas mine ; but I 've no language to explain to you 
How that little girl's weak fingers our hearts together drew ! 

Once we watched it through a fever, and with each gasping breath, 
Dumb, with an awful, worldless woe, we waited for its death ; 
And, though I 'm not a pious man, our souls together there. 
For Heaven to spare our darling, went up in voiceless prayer. 

And when the doctor said 'twould live, our joy what words 

could tell? 
Clasped in each other's arms, our grateful tears together fell. 
Sometimes, you see, the shadow fell across our little nest, 
But it only made the sunshine seem a doubly welcome guest. 

AVork came to me a plenty, and I kept the anvil ringing ; 
Early and late you 'd find me there a-hammering and singing ; 
Love nerved my arm to labor, and moved my tongue to song, 
And though my singing wasn't sweet, it was tremendous strong! 

36 



426 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

One day a one-armed stranger stopped to have me nail a shoe, 
And while I \yas at work we passed a compliment or two; 
I asked him how he lost his arm. He said 'twas shot away 
At Malvern Hill. "At Malvern Hill ! Did you know Robert May?" 

"That's me," said he. "Yon, you!" I gasped, choking with 

horrid doubt: 
" If you 're the man just follow me; we '11 try this mystery out! " 
AVith dizzy steps, I led him to Mary. God ! 'T was true ! 
Then the bitterest pangs of misery unspeakable I knew. 

Frozen with deadly horror, she stared with eyes of stone, 

And from her quivering lips there broke one wild, despairing 

moan, 
'T was he ! the husband of her youth, now risen from the dead ; 
But all too late — and with bitter cry, her senses fled. 

What could be done ? He was reported dead. On his return 
He strove in vain some tidings of his absent wife to learn. 
'T was well that he was innocent! Else I'd've killed him, too, 
So dead he never would have riz till Gabriel's trumpet blew ! 

It was agreed that Mary then between us should decide, 
And each by her decision would sacredly abide. 
No sinner, at the judgment-seat, waiting eternal doom. 
Could suffer what I did while waiting sentence in that room. 

Rigid and breathless, there we stood, with nerves as tense as steel, 
While Mary's eyes sought each white face, in piteous appeal. 
God! could not woman's duty be less hardly reconciled 
Between her lawful husband and the father of her child? 

Ah ! how my heart was chilled to ice, when she knelt down and 

said: 
" Forgive me, John ! He is my husband ! Here ! Alive ! not 

dead ! " 
I raised her tenderly, and tried to tell her she was right; 
But somehow, in my aching breast, the prisoned words stuck 

tight ! 

"But, John, I can't leave baby"— "What! wife and child!" 

cried I; 
" Must I yield all! Ah, cruel fate! Better that I should die. 
Think of the long, sad, lonely hours, waiting in gloom for me; 
No wife to cheer me with her love — no babe to climb my knee ! 



IMPERSONATION. 427 

And yet — you are her mother, and the sacred mother love 
Is still the purest, tenderest tie that Heaven ever wove. 
Take her ; but promise Mary — for that will bring no shame — 
My little girl shall bear and learn to lisp her father's name! " 

It may be, in the life to come, I '11 meet my child and wife ; 
But yonder, by my cottage gate, we parted for this life; 
One long hand-clasp from Mary, and my dream of love was done ! 
One long embrace from baby and my happiness was gone ! 

FRANK OLIVE. 



THE FI.OOD AND THE ARK. 

In the autumn of 1830 I attended a camp-meeting in 
the interior of Georgia, and heard a sermon which I have 
never been able to forget or describe. 

The speaker had just been licensed, and it was his first 
sermon. In person he was small, bullet-headed, of a fair, 
sandy complexion ; and his countenance was indicative of 
sincerity and honesty. He was taking up the Bible in 
regular order for the first time in his life, and had gotten as 
far as the history of Noah, the Ark, the Flood, etc. Besides, 
"just before his conversion, he had been reading Goldsmith's 
'Animated Nater ; ' and the two together, by the aid and 
assistance of the Sperit, had led him into a powerful train 
of thinking as he stood at his work-bench, day in and day 
out." The text was: *'As it was in the days of Noah, so 
shall the coming of the Son of man be ; " and he broke out 
into the following strain : 

"Yes, my bretherin, the heavens of the windows was 
opened-ah, and the floods of the g-r-e-a-t deep kivered the 
v-Hters-ah; and there was Shem, and there was Ham, and 
there was Japhet-ah, a-1-1 a-gwine into the ark-ah. 

"And there was the elephant-ah, that g-r-e-a-t animal-ah, 
of which Goldsmith describes in his 'Animated Nater '-ah, 
what is as big as a house-ah, and his bones as big as a tree- 
ah, depending somewhat upon the size of the tree-ah, a-1-1 
a-gwine into the ark-ah. And the heavens of the windows 



428 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

was opened-ah, and the floods of tlie g-r-e-a-t deep kivered 
the waters-ah ; and there was 8hem, and there was Ham, 
and there was Japhet-ah, a-1-1 a-gwiue into the ark-ah. 

"And there was the hippopotamus-ah, that g-r-e-a-t ani- 
mal-ah, of which Goklsmith describes in his 'Animated Nater'- 
ah, what has ag-r-c-a-t horn-ah a-stickin' right straight up ont 
of his forward-ah, six feet h)ng, more or less-ah, depending 
somewhat oh the length of it-ah, a-I-1 a-gwine into the ark-ali. 

"And there was the giraffe-ah, my bretherin, that ill-con- 
trived reptile, of which Goldsmith describes in his 'Aninjated 
Nater'-ah, whose fore-legs is twenty-five feet long-ah, more 
or less-ah, depending somewhat on the length of 'em-ah, and 
a neck so long he can eat hay off the top of a barn-ah, de- 
pending somewhat on the hithe of the barn-ah, a-1-1 a-gwine 
into the ark-ah. And the heavens of the windows was 
opened-ah, and the floods of the great deep kivered the 
waters-ah; and there was Ham, and there was Shem, and 
there was Japhet-ah, a-1-1 a-gwMne into the ark-ah. 

"And there was the zebra, my bretherin-ah, that b-e-a-u- 
t-i-f-u-1 animal, of which Goldsmith describes in his 'Ani- 
mated Nater'-ah, what has three hundred stripes a-runnin' 
right straight around his body-ah, more or less-ah, depending 
somewhat on the number of stripes-ah, and nary two stripes 
alike-ah, a-1-1 a-gwine into the ark-ah. 

"Then there was the anaconder-ah, that g-r-e-a-t sarpint, 
of which Goldsmith describes in his 'Animated Nater'-ah, 
what can swallow six oxens at a meal-ah, provided his ap- 
petite don't call for less-ah, a-1-1 a-gwine into the ark-ah. 
And the heavens of the windows was opened-ah, and the 
floods of the great deep kivered the waters-ah ; and there 
was Shem, and there was Ham, and there was Japhet-ah, 
a-l-I a-gwine into the ark-ah. 

"And there was the lion, bretherin-ah, what is the king 
of beasts, accordin' to Scripter-ah, and who, as St. Paul says- 
ah, prowls around of a night like a roarin' devil-ah, a-seekin' 
if he can't catch somebody-ah ; a-1-1 a-gwine into the ark-ah. 



IMPERSONATION. 429 

''And there was the autelope-ah, my bretherin, that frisky 
little critter-ah, of which Goldsmith describes in his 'Ani- 
mated Nater'-ah, what can jump seventy-five foot straight 
np-ah, and twice that distance down-ah, provided his legs 
will take him tliat far-ah,a-l-l a-gwine into the ark-ah. And 
the heavens of the windows was opened-ah, and the floods of 
the great deep kivered the waters-ah; and there was Shem, 
and there was Ham, and there was Japhet-ah, a-1-1 a-gwine 
into the ark-ah. 

They all came to his hand of their own accord-ah, and 
Noer only had to head 'em in and fix 'em around in their 
places-ah. Then he gathered up his own family, and the Lord 
shut him in, and the heavens of the windows was opeued-ah. 

" Some of 'em, according to Goldsmitli's 'Animated Nater'- 
ah, was carnivorious, and wanted fresh meat-ah ; and some 
was herbivorious, and wanted vegetable food-ah ; and some 
was wormivorions, and swallowed live things whole-ah ; and 
he had to feed everything accordin' to his nater. Hence 
we view, my bretherin-ah, as the nater of the animals wasn't 
altered by goin' into the ark-ah, some of 'em Avould roar,- 
and howl, and bark, and bray, and squeal, and blat, the 
whole indurin' night-ah, a-drivin' sleep from his eyes, and 
slumber from his eyelets-ah ; and at the first streak o' day- 
light the last hoof of 'em would set up a noise accordin' to 
his nater-ah. 

" My bretherin, as it was in the days of Noer-ah, so shall 
the coming of the Son of man be-ah. The world will never 
bedrowned agin-ah. It will be sot a-fire, and burnt up, root 
and branch, with a fervient heat-ah. 



WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN. 

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder 's in the shock, 
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey cock, 
And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens, 
And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence ; 



430 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

O, it 's then 's tlie time a feller is a feelin' at his best, 

With the rising sun to greet liim from a night of peaceful rest, 

And he leaves the house bareheaded and goes out to feed the 

stock, 
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder 's in the shock. 

There 's something kind o' hearty-like about the atmosphere 
When the heat of summer's over and the cooling fall is here. 
Of course we miss the flowers nnd the blossoms on the trees, 
And the mumble of the hummin'-})ir(ls an' buzzin' of the bees; 
But the air's so appetizin', and the landscape tiirough the haze 
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the early autumn days 
Is a pictur' that no painter has the colorin' to mock, 
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock. 

The husty, rusty russle of the tassels of the corn. 

And the raspin' of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn ; 

The stubble in the furries — kind o' lonesome-like but still, 

A j)reachin' sermons to us of the barns they growed to fill; 

The straw-stack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed; 

The bosses in their stall below, the clover overhead, — 

O, it sets my heart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock, 

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder 's in the shock. 

Then your apples all is gathered, and the ones a feller keeps 
Is poured around the cellar-floor, in red and yellow heaps, 
And your cider-makin's over and your womern-folks is through 
With their mince and apple-butter, and their souse and sausage 

too; 
I do n't know how to tell it — but if sich a thing could be 
As the avgeh vanthi' hoarding and they'd call around on me, 
1 'd want to 'commodate 'em, all the whole endurin' flock. 
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder 's in the shock. 

JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. 



THE DEACON'S STORY. 

The solemn old bells in the steeple 

Are ringin'. I guess you know m hy ! 

No? Well, then, I '11 tell you, though mostly 
It 's whispered about on the sly. 



nrPJi'RSONATIOK 431 

Some six weeks ago, a Church meetin' 
Was called — for — nobody knew what; 

But we went, and the parson was present, 
And I do n't know who, or who not. 

Some twenty odd members, I calc'late, 

AVhich mostly was women, of course ; 
Though I do n't mean to say aught ag'in 'em, 

I 've seen many gatherin's look worse. 
There, in the front row, sat the deacons. 

The eldest was old Deacon Pryor ; 
A man countin' fourscore and seven ; 

And gin'rally fuU of his ire. 

Beside him, his wife, countin' fourscore, 

A kind-hearted, motherly soul ; 
And next to her, young Deacon Hartley, 

A good Christian man on the whole. 
Miss Parsons, a spinster of fifty, 

And long ago laid on the shelf. 
Had wedged herself next ; and, beside her, 

AVas Deacon Monroe — that 's myself. 

The meetin' was soon called to order, 

The parson looked glum as a text ; 
We gazed at each other in silence, 

And silently wondered, "What next?" 
Then slowly uprose Deacon Hartley ; 

His voice seemed to tremble with fear, 
As he said: "Boy and man you have known me, 

^ly good friends, for nigh forty year ; 

And you scarce may expect a confession 

Of error from me ; but — you know. 
My dearly loved wife died last Christmas ; 

It 's now nearly ten months ago. 
The winter went by long and lonely. 

The spring hurried forward apace ; 
The farm-work came on, and I needed 

A woman about the old place. 

The children were wilder than rabbits, 
And still growin' worse every day ; 



432 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY, 

No help to 1)0 found in the village, 
Although I was willin' to pay. 

In fact, I was nigh 'bout discouraged 
For every thing looked so forlorn ; 

When good little Patience' McAlpin 

Skipped into our kitchen one morn. 

She had only run in of an errand ; 

r>ut she laughed at our miserable plight. 
And set to work, jist like a woman, 

A-puttin' the whole place to right. 
And though her own folks was so busy, 

And illy her helpin' could spare, 
She flit in and out like a sparrow. 

And most every day she was there. 

So the summer went by, sort of cheerful; 

But one night, my baby, my Joe, 
Was restless and feverish, and woke me. 

As babies will often, you know. 
I was tired with my day's work, and sleepy, 

And I couldn't no way keep him still; 
So at last I grew angry and spanked him. 

And then he screamed out with a will. 

'T was just then I heard a soft rappin' 

Away at the half-open door, 
And then little Patience McAlpin 

Stepped shyly across the white floor. 
Says she: 'I thought. Josie was cryin', 

I guess I 'd best take him away ; 
I knew you 'd be gettin' up early 

To go to the marshes for hay ; 

So I stayed here to-night, to get breakfast; 

I guess he '11 be quiet with me ; 
Come, baby, kiss papa and tell him 

What a nice little man he will be.' 
She was bendin' low over the baby. 

And saw the big tears on his cheek; 
But her face was so near to my whiskers 

I dars n't move, scarcely, or speak. 



IMPERSONATION. 433 

Her arms were both holdin' the baby, 

Her eyes by his shoulder were hid ; 
But her mouth was so near and so rosy, 

That — I kissed her — that 's just what I did! " 
Then down sat the trembhn' sinner : 

The sisters they murmured, " For shame I " 
And " she should n't oughter a' let him ; 

No doubt she was mostly to blame." 

When slowly uprose Beacon Prj^or : 

" Now, brethren a^nd sisters," he said — 
And we knowed then that suthin' was coming, 

And we sot as still as the dead — 
" We 've heard Brother Hartley's confession, 

And I speak for myself when I say : 
' That if my wife was dead, and my children 

Were all growin' worse everj'' day ; 
And if my house needed attention, 

And Patience iNTcAlpin had come, 
And tidied the cluttered-up kitchen. 

And made the place seem more like at home; 
And if I was worn out and sleepy. 

And my baby would n't lie still, 
But fretted and woke me at midnight. 

As babies, we know, sometimes will ; 
And if Patience came in to hush him. 

And 't was all as our good brother sez — 
I think, friends — I think I should kiss her, 

And 'bide hj the consequences.' 

Then down sat the elderly deacon ; 

The younger one lifted his face, 
And a smile rippled over the meetin', 

Like light in a shadowy place. 
Perhaps, then, the matronly sisters 

Remembered their far-away youth. 
Or the daughters at home by their firesides, 

Shrined each in her shy, modest truth ; 
For their judgments grew gentle and kindly, -' 

And — well — as I started to say, 
The solemn old bells in the steeple 

Are ringin' a bridal to-day. n. s. emerson. 

37 



434 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 



THE I.ITTLE STOW-AWAY. 

''Would ye like to hear about it?" 
I eagerly assent; and tbe narrator, knocking the ashes 
out of his pipe, folds his brawny arms upon the top of the 
rail, and commences as follows : 

"'Bout three years ago, afore I got this berth as I'm in 
now, I was second engineer aboard a Liverpool steamer 
bound for New York. There 'd been a lot of extra cargo 
sent down just at the last minute, and we'd had no end of 
a job stowin' it away, and that ran us late o' startin' ; so 
that, altogether, you may think, the cap'n war n't in the 
sweetest temper in the world, nor the mate neither; as for 
the chief engineer, he was an easy-goin' sort of a chap, as 
nothin' on earth could put out. But on the mornin' of the 
third day out from Liverpool, he cum down to me in a pre- 
cious hurry, lookin' as if somethin' had put him out pretty 
considerably. 

"'Tom,' says he, 'what d'ye think? Blest if w^e ain't 
found a stow-away.' Timt 's the name, you know, sir, as 
we gives to chaps as hide theirselves aboard outward-bound 
vessels, and gets carried out unbeknown to every body. 

"'The dickens you have!' says L 'Who is he, and 
where did you find him?' 

"' Well, we found him stowed away among the casks 
for'ard ; and ten to one we'd never ha' twigged him at all, 
if the skipper's dog had n't sniffed him out and begun barkin'. 
Such a nice little mite as he is, too! I could ha' most put 
him in my baccy-pouch, poor little beggar ! but he look to 
be a good-plucked un for all that.' 

"I didn't wait to hear no more, but up on deck like a 
sky-rocket; and there I did see a sight, and no mistake. 
Every man-Jack o' the crew, and what few passengers we 
had aboard, was all in a ring on the fo'c'stle, and in the 
middle was the fust-mate, lookin' as black as thunder. Right 



I 



IMPERSONATION. 435 

in front of him, lookiug a reg'lar mite among them big fel- 
lers, was a little bit o' a lad not ten year old — ragged as a 
scare-crow, but with bright, curly hair, and a bonuie little 
face o' his own, if it hadn't been so woeful thin and pale. 
But, bless your soul ! to see the way that little chap held his 
head up, and looked about him, you 'd ha' thought the 
whole ship belonged to him. The mate was a great hulkin' 
black-bearded feller, with a look that 'ud ha' frightened a 
horse, and a voice fit to make one jump through a key-hole; 
but the young un war n't a bit afeard ; he stood straight up, 
and looked him full in the face with them bright, clear eyes 
o' his'n, for all the world as if he was Prince Halferd him- 
self Folk did say arterwards" — lowering his voice to a 
whisper — "as how he comed o' better blood nor what he 
seemed ; and, f<j)r my part, I 'm rayther o' that way o' thinkin' 
myself; for I never yet see'd a common street Harab — as 
they calls them now — carry it off like him. You might ha' 
heered a pin drop, as the mate spoke. 

** * Well, you youDg whelp,' says he, in his grimmest 
voice, * what 's brought you here ? ' 

" 'It was my step-father as done it,' says the boy, in a 
weak little voice, but as steady as could be. ' Father 's 
dead, and mother's married again, and my new father says 
as how he won't have no brats about eatin' up his wages ; 
and he stowed me away when nobody war n't lookin', and 
guv me some grub to keep me goin' for a day or two till I 
got to sea. He says I 'm to go to Aunt Jane, at Halifax ; 
and here's her address.' And with that, he slips his hand 
into the breast of his shirt, and out with a scrap o' paper, 
awful dirty and crumpled up, but with the address on it, 
right enough. 

'* We all believed every word on 't, even without the pa- 
per ; for his look, and his voice, and the way he spoke, was 
enough to show that there war n't a ha'porth o' lyin' in his 
whole skin. But the mate didn't seem to swallow the yarn 
at all; he only shrugged his shoulders with a kind o' grin, 



436 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

as much as to say, * I 'm too old a bird to be caught by 
that kind o' chaff; ' and then he says to him : ' Look here, 
my lad, that 's all very fine, but it won't do here. Some o' 
these men o' mine are in the secret, and I mean to have it 
out of 'em. Now, you just point out the man as stowed you 
away and fed you, this very minute; if you don't, it'll be 
the worse for you ! ' 

'' The boy looked up in his bright, fearless way (it did my 
heart good to look at him, the brave little chap!) and says 
quietly : ' I 've told you the truth ; I ain't got no more to say/ 

"The mate says nothin', but looks at him for a minute, 
as if he 'd see clean through him ; and then he faced round 
to the men, lookin' blacker than ever. ' Reeve a rope to 
the yard ! ' he sings out, loud enough to raise the dead ; 

* smart now!' 

"The men all looked at each other, as much as to say: 

* What on earth 's a-comin' now ! ' But aboard ship, o' course, 
when you 're told to do a thing, you 've got to do it ; so the 
rope was rove in a jiffy. 

" 'Now, my lad,' says the mate, in a hard, square kind 
o' voice that made every word seem like fittin' a stone into 
a wall, 'you see that 'ere rope? Well, I'll give you ten 
minutes to confess ; and if you do n't tell the truth afore the 
time 's up, I '11 hang you like a dog ! ' 

"The crew all stared at one another as if they could n't 
believe their ears — I did n't believe mine, I can tell ye — and 
then a low growl went among 'era, like a wild beast awakin' 
out of a nap. 

" ' Silence, there ! ' shouts the mate, in a voice like the 
roar of a nor'easter. * Stand by to run for'ard ! ' as he held 
the noose ready to put it round the boy's neck. The little 
feller never flinched a bit ; but there was some among the 
sailors — big strong chaps, as could ha' felled an ox — as shook 
like leaves in the wind. As for me, I bethought myself o' 
my little curly-haired lad at home, and how it 'ud be if any 
one was to go for to hang him ; and at the very thought 



IMPERSONATION. 437 

on 't I tingled all over, and my fingers clinched theirselves 
as if they was a-grippin' somebody's throat. I clutched bold 
o' a hand-spike, and beld it bebind my back, all ready. 

" ' Tom,' whispers the chief-engineer to me, ' d'ye think 
he really means to do it ? ' 

*' ' I do n't know,' says I, through my teeth ; ' but if be 
does, he shall go first, if I swings for it ! ' 

'*I've been in many an ugly scrape in ray time, but I 
never felt 'arf as bad as I did then. Every minute seemed 
as long as a dozen ; an' the tick o' the mate's watch, reg'lar, 
pricked my ears like a pin. The men were very quiet, but 
there was a precious ugly look on some o' their faces ; and I 
noticed that three or four on 'em kep' edgin' for'ard to where 
the mate was, in a way that meant mischief. As for me, 
r'd made up my mind that if he did go for to hang the poor 
little chap, I 'd kill him on the spot, and take my chance. 

*' 'Eight minutes,' says the mate, his great deep voice 
breakin' in upon the silence like the toll o' a funeral bell. 
*If you've got any thing to confess, my lad, you'd best out 
with it, for ye 're time 's nearly up.' 

" 'I've told you the truth,' answers the boy, very pale, 
but as firm as ever. ' May I say my prayers, please ! ' 

"The mate nodded, and down goes the poor little chap 
on his knees and puts up his poor little hands to pray. I 
could n't make out what he said — fact, my head was in sich 
a whirl that I'd hardly ha' knowed my own name — but I'll 
be bound God heard it, every word. Then he ups on his 
feet again, and puts his hands behind him, and says to the 
mate quite quietly, ' I 'm ready ! ' 

"And then, sir, the mate's hard, grim face broke up all 
to once, like I 've seed the ice in the Baltic. He snatched 
up the boy in his arms, and kissed him, and burst out 
a-cryin' like a child ; and I think there war n't one of us as 
did n't do the same. I know I did for one. 

" * God bless you, my boy! ' says he, smoothin' the child's 
hair wath his great hard hand. ' You 're a true Englishman, 



438 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

every inch of you ; you would n't tell a lie to save your life! 
Well, if so be as yer father's cast yer off, I'll be yer father 
from this day forth; and if I ever forget you, then may 
God forget me ! ' 

" And he kep' his word, too. When we got to Halifax, 
he found out the little un's aunt, and gev her a lump o' 
money, to make him comfortable ; and now he goes to see 
the youngster every voyage, as reg'hir as can be ; and to see 
the pair on 'em together — the little chap so fond of him, and 
not bearin' him a bit o' grudge — it 's 'bout as pretty a sight 
as ever I seed. And now, sir, axin' yer parden, it's time 
for me to be goin' below; so I'll just bid you good-night." 

ANON. 



JUVENILE. 



THE LITTLE HATCHET STORY. 



And so, smiling, we went on. 
" Well, one day, George's father- 
'* George who?" asked Clarence. 



" George Washington. He was a little boy, then, just 
like you. One day his father " 

" Whose father ?" demanded Clarence, with an encour- 
aging expression of interest. 

** George Washington's; this great man we are telling 
you of. One day George Washington's father gave him a 
little hatchet for a " 

'' Gave who a little hatchet?" the dear child interrupted 
with a gleam of bewitching intelligence. Most men would 
have got mad, or betrayed signs of impatience, but we 
did n't. We know how to talk to children. So we went on ; 

' ' George Washington. His " 

"Who gave him the little hatchet?" 

*' His father. And his father " 



JUVENILE. 439 



"Whose father?" 

" George Washington's." 

"O!" 

' ' Yes, George Washington. And his father told him- 

" Told who?" 

" Told George." 

"O yes, George." 



And we w^ent on, just as patient and as pleasant as you 
could imagine. We took up the story right where the boy 
interrupted, for we could see he was just crazy to hear the 
end of it. We said : 

"And he was told " 

"George told him?" queried Clarence. 
• " No ; his father told George " 

"O!" 

" Yes ; told him he must be careful with the hatchet " 

" Who must be careful?" 

" George must." 

"O!" 

" Yes ; must be careful with his hatchet " 

"What hatchet?" 

"Why, George's." 

"O!" 

" With the hatchet, and not cut himself with it, or drop 
it in the cistern, or leave it out in the grass all night. 
So George went round cutting every thing he could reach 
with his hatchet. And at last he came to a splendid apple- 
tree, his father's favorite, and cut it down, and " 

"Who cut it down?" 
^"George did." 

"O!" 

"But his father came home and saw it the first thing, 
and " 

"Saw the hatchet?" 

"No; saw the apple-tree. And he said: 'Who has cut 
down my favorite apple-tree ? ' " 



440 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

*'What apple-tree?" 

"George's father's. And every body said they didn't 
know any thing about it, and " 

*'Any thing about what?" 

"The apple-tree." 

"O!" 

"And George came up and heard them talking about 
it " 

"Heard who talking about it?" 

" Heard his father and the men." 

"What were they talking about?" 

"About this apple-tree." 

"What apple-tree?" 

" The favorite tree that George cut down." 

"George who?" 

" George Washington." 

"O!" 

" So George came up and heard them talking about it, 
and he " 

" What did he cut it down for?" 

"Just to try his little hatchet." 

"Whose little hatchet?" 

"Why, his own, the one his father gave him." 

"Gave who?" 

" Why, George Washington." 

"O!" 

"So George came up, and he said: 'Father, I can not 
tell a lie, I '" 

"Who could nt tell a lie?" 

"Why, George Washington. He said: 'Father, I ^an 
not tell a lie. It was ' " 

"His father couldn't?" 

" Why, no ; George could n't." 

"O! George? Oyes!" 

" 'It w^as I cut down your apple-tree; I did '" 

"His father did?" 



JUVENILE. 441 

"No, no; it was George said this." 

"Said lie cut his father?" 

"No, no, no; said he cut down his apple-tree." 

" George's apple-tree." 

"No, no; his father's." 

"O!" 

"He said " 

"His father said?" 

" No, no, no; George said : * Father, I can not tell a lie, 
I did it wnth my little hatchet.' And his father said: 
* Noble boy, I would rather lose a thousand trees than have 
you tell a lie.'" 

"George did?" 

"No, his father said that." 

" Said he 'd rather have a thousand apple-trees?" 

"No, no, no; said he'd rather lose a thousand apple- 
trees than " 

* ' Said he 'd rather George would ? " 

"No; said he'd rather he would than have him lie." 

" O ! George would rather have his father lie?" 

We are patient, and we love children, but, if Mrs. Ca- 
ruthers had n't come and got her prodigy at that critical 
juncture, we don't believe all Burlington could have pulled 
us out of the snarl. And as Clarence Alencon de Marche- 
mont Caruthers pattered down the stairs we heard him tell- 
ing his ma about a boy who had a father named George, and 
he told him to cut down an apple-tree, and he said he'd 
rather tell a thousand lies than cut down one apple-tree. 

K. J. BURDETTE. 



A CHIIvD'S DRKAM OF A STAR. 

There was once a child, and he strolled about a good 
deal, and thought of a number of things. He had a sister 
who was a child too, and his constant companion. They 
wondered at the beauty of the flowers; they wondered at the 



442 ELOCUTION AND OR A TOR Y. 

height and bliieuess of the sky; they wondered at the depth 
of the water; they wondered at the goodness and power of 
God, who made the lovely world. 

They used to say to one another sometimes: Supposing 
all the children upon earth were to die, would the flowers 
and the. water and the sky be sorry? They believed they 
would be sorry. For, said they, the buds are the children 
of the flowers, and the little playful streams that gambol 
down the hillsides are the children of the water, and the 
smallest bright specks playing at hide-and-seek in the sky 
all night must surely be the children of the stars; and they 
would all be grieved to see their playmates, the children of 
men, no more. 

There was one clear-shining star that used to come out in 
the sky before the rest, near the church-spire, above the 
graves. It was larger and more beautiful, they thought, 
than all the others, and every night they watched for it, 
standing hand-in-hand at a window. Whoever saw it 
first cried out: "I see the star." And after that, they 
cried out both together, knowing so well when it would 
rise, and where. So they grew to be such friends with it 
that, before lying down in their bed, they always looked 
out once again to bid it good-night; and when they were 
turning round to sleep, they used to say: "God bless 
the star ! " 

But while she was still very young — O, very young! — the 
sister drooped, and came to be so weak that she could no 
longer stand in the window at night, and then the child 
looked sadly out by himself, and when* he saw the star, 
turned round and said to the patient, pale face on the bed, 
"I see the star!" and then a smile would come upon the 
face, and a little weak voice used to say: "God bless my 
brother and the star ! " 

And so the time came, all too soon, when the child looked 
out all alone, and when there was no face on the bed, and 
when there was a grave among the graves not there before, 






JUVENILE. 443 

and when the star made long rays down toward him as he 
saw it through his tears. 

Now, these rays were so bright, and they seemed to make 
such a shining way from earth to heaven, that when the child 
went to his solitary bed he dreamed about the star ; and 
dreamed that, lying where he was, he saw a train of people 
taken up that sparkling road by angels; and the star, open- 
ing, showing him a great world of light, where many more 
such angels waited to receive them. 

All these angels, who were waiting, turned their beam- 
ing eyes upon the people who were carried up into the 
star; and some came out from the long rows in which they 
stood, and fell upon the people's necks, and kissed them 
tenderly, and went away with them down avenues of light, 
and were so happy in their company that, lying in his bed, 
he wept for joy. 

But there were many angels who did not go with them, 
and among them one he knew. The patient face that once 
had lain upon the bed was glorified and radiant, but his heart 
found out his sister among all the host. 

His sister's angel lingered near the entrance of the star, 
and said to the leader among those who had brought the 
people thither : 

' ' Is my brother come ? " 

And he said: "No ! " 

She was turning hopefully away, when the child 
stretched out his arms, and cried: '^O, sister, I am here! 
Take me ! " And then she turned her beaming eyes upon 
him — and it was night; and the star was shining into the 
room, making long rays down toward him as he saw it 
through his tears. 

From that hour forth, the child looked out upon the star 
as the home he was to go to when his time should come ; and 
he thought that he did not belong to the earth alone, but to 
the star too, because of his sister's angel gone before. 

There was a baby born to be a brother to the child, and 



444 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

while he was so little that he never yet had spoken a word, he 
stretched out his tiny form on his bed, and died. 

Again the child dreamed of the opened star, and of the 
company of angels, and the train of people, and the rows 
of angels, with their beaming eyes all turned upon those 
people's faces. 

Said his sister's angel to the leader : 

*' Is my brother come ? " 

And he said : " Not that one, but another ! " 

As the child beheld his brother's angel in her arms, he 
cried: " O, my sister, I am here! Take me!" And she 
turned and smiled upon him — and the star was shining. 

He grew to be a young man, and was busy at his books, 
when an old servant came to him and said : 

'' Thy mother is no more. I bring her blessing on her 
darling son." 

Again at night he saw the star, and all that former 
company. Said his sister's angel to the leader: "Is my 
brother come?" 

And he said : " Thy mother ! " 

A mighty cry of joy went forth through all the star, be- 
cause the mother was reunited to her two children. And he 
stretched out his arms and cried: " O, mother, sister, and 
brother, I am here ! Take me ! " And they answered him : 
** Not yet ! " — And the star was shining. 

He grew to be a man, whose hair was turning gray, and 
he was sitting in his chair by the fireside, heavy with grief, 
and with his face bedewed with tears, when the star opened 
once again. 

Said his sister's angel to the leader: "Is my brother 
come ? " 

And he said : ** Nay, but his maiden daughter ! " 

And the man who had been the child saw his daughter, 
newly lost to him, a celestial creature among those three, and 
he said: " My daughter's head is on my sister's bosom, and 
her arm is around my mother's neck, and at her feet is the 



JUVENILE. 445 

baby of old time, and I can bear the parting from her. 
God be praised." 

And the star was shining. 

Thus the child came to be an old man, and his once 
smooth face was wrinkled, and his steps were slow and 
feeble, and his back was bent. And one night as he lay 
upon his bed, his children standing around, he cried, as he 
cried so long ago : " I see the star ! " 

They whispered one to another: "He is dying." And 
he said: "I am. My age is falling from me like a gar- 
ment, and I move toward the star as a child. And O, my 
Father, now I thank thee that it has so often opened to 
receive those dear ones who await me ! " 

And the star was shining; and it shines upon his grave. 

CHARLES DICKENS. 



A BASKET OF FIvOWERS. 

A FEW days afterward the Light of the Household went 
forth into the poor places of the neighborhood and brought 
in, one by one, shrinking children, with shabby garments 
and shy glances ; little girls ungathered into schools, un- 
taught of ignorant parents who were slaves of labor, to 
whom was preached no gospel of salvation from idleness, 
weakness, or vice. These, allured in unwillingly at first, 
hard enough for a time to keep together, came at last into 
this quiet chamber as to a holy shrine, sat earnestly at the 
feet of a pale, patient teacher, and learned the ways of 
truth and right. Day by day — for a few minutes only some- 
times, sometimes for hours, according to her fluctuating 
strength — she had them v/ith her, and in the poor homes 
where they belonged the mothers listened with a sort of awe 
to the accounts of this pale lady, lying always on her couch, 
covered with the white, fleecy folds of her delicate work, 
and giving out to little rapt listeners thoughts that would 
abide with them all their lives. 



446 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

After a while Christmas was drawing near, and one day- 
there was an interesting assemblage of these small scholars 
ill a room where one of them lived, and the subject of their 
meeting was how to get a Christmas present for the crippled 
teacher, and what it should be. 

Strange and various articles were proposed, to which 
many objections were raised, principally by the little presi- 
dent, who seemed to think her most important duty was to 
keep the intended expenditure within the limits of tlie prob- 
able amount, for which purpose she was obliged to do a good 
many sums out loud. The puzzle was growing deeper, and 
the likelihood of a decision seemed farther off than ever, 
when Nettie Blane said, in her soft voice: *'I know wliat 
the lady loves more than any thing else, and that's flowers! 
Why, just here awhile ago, before it got so cold, I found a 
bunch of wild posies growing alongside the road as I was 
going to her house. They were just common things ; but I 
picked them and took them to her, and you just ought to 
have seen her over them ! Her face lit all up, she was so 
pleased ; and do you know that for a minute she looked like 
she never was sick at all ? and she kind of petted them with 
her fingers, and thanked me so nice that I never was so glad 
of doing any thing in my life ! " 

"And I know of a man who keeps a hot-house just out 
of town," said the young president, " and he looks good- 
humored and kind ; so may be he '11 give us something real 
nice for what we '11 have to pay ! " And soon after, the 
meeting dispersed. 

The day before Christmas, as the big, burly, and rosy 
owner of the conservatory just out of town was sorting his 
choicest blooms for a large wedding which was to take place 
in the evening, the door of the hot-house suddenly opened, 
and a squadron of a dozen or more small girls entered in 
solemn procession. 

''Bless my soul!" said the gardener, turning his bluff, 
bright face toward them, '' what do you young ones want? " 



JUVENILE. 447 

For an iDstant they had stood quite still, looking about 
them in wonder and delight; for the whole place was so filled 
with rare and lovely blossoms that its atmosphere, color, and 
profusion was like a concentration of the tropics. 

*'If you please, sir, we want to buy a basket of flowers." 

The man dropped the two or three buds he held in his 
hand, turned entirely around, and gave one steady look down 
the Avhole line ; he saw at once that they were not likely to 
want flowers for themselves, and imagined that one or two 
had been sent on a message, and that the rest had accom- 
panied these. 

" You — want— to — buy — " he said slowly. 

*' Yes, sir ; a basket of flowers, if you please." 

"Who for? and wliy are there so many of you?" 

"Well, sir, I will tell you. You see, sir, there's a dear 
kind lady, aud she is a cripple, and never gets off* a low 
kind of bed she lays on, and works all the time the most 
beautiful 'broidering flowers you ever seen. And she teaches 
us; so we thought we'd like to give her a Christmas present, 
and we've all saved up till we think we've got enough; 
and because she never can go out to see any thing a-growing, 
and just loves flowers like they were alive, we made up our 
minds to take her some ; because we all gave something toward 
it, we all came together about it ; and if you please, sir, we'd 
like as nice a basketful as you can make up for our money." 

The rosy face bloomed out bright as one of his own blos- 
soms ; the round eyes grew wonderfully soft and moist, as 
the big, burly man stooped aud kissed the small speaker, 
and said, with just a touch of huskiness in his voice : 

" Well, you 're a blessed little party! You just go round, 
all of you, and pick out what you 'd like to have, and I'll 
fix them up for you ! " There was an immediate stir in the 
young procession, and evident delight in this permission, and 
an intention to put it instantly into practice, when the little 
leader called out : 

"Ain't those grand flowers very dear? You see, sir, we 



448 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

don't want any thing we can't pay for all right. We've 
got this much money ; please to count it, sir, and see if it 
will do ! " And she handed him a rather battered tin match- 
box containing the accumulated contributions in small coins, 
which had been gradually brought in as they were gained. 

The big gardener by this time was too much touched 
to keep quite calm. "Here," he said to the little leader, 
"you count out this money, and tell me how much it is, 
and I'll do the best I can for it!" And when he to©k a 
basket and went round his hot-house collecting here and 
there his simplest blooms, all these keen eyes watched him 
in unbroken silence, and not one of them stirred a gaze from 
his fingers as he laid in the moss, propped a superb, stain- 
less lily in the center, and arranged round it with exquisite 
taste violets and heart's-ease, and delicate, pure blossoms; 
in breathless quiet they noted every flower that was woven 
into its place, little thinking that these commoner plants 
which they were used to see in summer were almost as 
costly as foreign growths in winter; and it was not till the 
whole was finished that they broke out into exclamatious of 
satisfaction. 

" This must be a mighty good woman to make you love 
her so ! " said the man as he handed over the basket to the 
carefid hold of the little leader. 

"Good!" answered Nettie Blaue; "she's a-most an 
angel. It seems like she ought never to do any thing but 
stand up close to the Throne with just such lilies in her 
hand ! " 

For Nettie's inmost heart was stirred by the flowers and 
the occasion. 

The big gardener looked at her a second as if he thought 
she might have been a stray cherub herself. 

" That's all your own gift," he said, pointing to the lily- 
crowned basket ; " but would you mind taking her a little 
present from me, too ? " 

"It shall only be one flower." 



JUVENILE, 449 

He went round among his plants to where bloomed one 
magnificent blossom, the only one of its kind in the green- 
house. He broke it from the stalk, and placed it in Nettie 
Blane's hand. '' O, thank you ! " said Nettie's glad voice, " I 
will give it to her with your compliments." And then the 
big gardener kissed every one of them as they passed out, 
and stood at his hot-house door, and watched the little pro- 
cession as it wound out of sight with the little leader at 
the head, carrying the basket of flowers. 

SARAH B. STEBBINS. 



WHAT THE LITTI.K GIRI^ SAID. 

I'm only a very little girl, but I think I have just as 
much right to say what I want to about things as a boy. I 
hate boys ; they 're so mean ; they grab all the strawberries 
at the dinner-table, and never tell us when they're going to 
have any fun. Only I like Gus Rogers. The other day Gus 
told me he was going to let off some fireworks, and he let 
Bessie Nettle and me go and look at them. All of us live 
in a hotel, and his mother's room has a window with a bal- 
cony, and it was there we had the fireworks, right on the 
balcony. His mother had gone out to buy some creiiie de lis 
to put on her face, and he'd went and got eleven boxes of 
lucifer matches, and ever so many pieces of Castile soap; 
he stealed them from the housekeeper. Just when she was 
going to put them in her closet, Gus went and told her Mrs. 
Nettle wanted her directly a minute, and while she was 
gone he grabbed the soap and the matches, and when she 
came back we watched her, and she got real mad, and she 
scolded Delia, that's the chambermaid, and said she knowed 
she did it; and I was real glad, because when I was turning 
somersets on my mother's bed, the other day, Delia slapped 
me, and she said she wasn't going to make the bed two times 
to please me; then Bessie and me sticked the matches in 

88 



450 ELOCUTION AJ^D ORATORY. 

the soap like ten-pins, and Giis fired them off, and they 
bhized like any thing, and they made an awful smell, and 
Gus went and turned a little of the gas on so's his mother 
would think it was that. 

We get our dinner with the nurses, 'cause the man that 
keeps the hotel charges full price for children if they sit at 
the table in the big dining-room. Once my mother let me 
go tliere with lier, and I talked a heap at the table, and a 
gentleman tliat sat next to us said: "Little girls should be 
seen and not heard." The mean old thing died last week, 
and I was real glad, and I told Delia so, and she said if I 
Avent and said things like that I couldn't go to heaven. 
^Tuch she knows about it. I wouldn't want to go if things 
like she went there. 

One day I went in the parlor and creeped under a sofa, 
and there was n't any body there. They do n't let dogs or 
children go in the parlor, and I think it's real mean; and 
I creeped under the sofa, so's nobody could see me; and 
Mr. Boyce came in and Miss Jackson. I do n't like Miss 
Jackson , she said one day childrens was a worse nuisance 
than dogs was. And Mr. Boyce and Miss Jackson came and 
sitted down on the sofa, and he said, " O, Louisa, I love you 
so much," and then he kissed her. I heard it smack. And 
she said, "O, Thomas, I wish I could believe you; don't 
you never kiss anybody else?" and he said, "No, dearest," 
and I called out: " O, what a big story; for I saw him kiss 
Bessie Nettle's nurse in tlie hall one night when the gas was 
turned down." Didn't he jump up; you bet — Gus always 
says you bet — and he pulled me out and tored my frock, and 
he said, " O, you wicked child, where do you expect to go 
for telling stories?" and I told him: "You shut up, I ain't 
going anywhere with you." I wish that man would die like 
the other did, so I do ; and I don't care whether he goes to 
heaven or not. 

Gus Eogers's mother had a lunch party in her parlor, 
and they had champagne, and they never gave him any, 



JUVENILE. 451 

and when his mother wasn't looking he found a bottle half 
full on the sideboard, and he stealed it and took it in our 
nursery, and Mary was n't there, and Gus and me drinked it 
out of the glass Mary brushes her teeth in, and it was real 
nice ; and we looked in Mary's wardrobe and finded her frock 
she goes to church in, and Gus put it on, and Mary's bonnet, 
too, and went in the hall, and we tumbled down and tored 
Mary's frock, and made my nose bleed, and Gus said, " O, 
there 's a earthquake," 'cause we could n't stand up, and you 
should see how the house did go up and down, awful ; and 
Gus and me laid down on the carpet, and the housekeeper 
picked me up and tookt me to my mother, and ray mother 
said, " O, my, whatever have you been doing?" and I said, 
"O dear! I drinked champagne out of Gus Rogers's 
mother's bottle in the glass Mary brushes her teeth in ; " 
and the housekeeper says, " O, my goodness gracious, that 
child's as tight as bricks;" and I said, "You bet, bully 
for you ; " and then I w^as awful sick, and I have forgotten 
what else. anon. 



WORK, WORK AWAY. 

Good advice for every one ; 

Work, work awaj^ 
Soon the race of life is run ; 

Work, work away. 
Seize the moments as they fly, 
Let your hopes mount ever high, 
Keep this motto always nigh: 

Work, work away. 

Let no obstacles aflfright ; 

Work, work away. 
Soon will fall the shades of night; 

Work, work away. 
All our days are but a span, 
Be then busy while j^ou can, 
Rest not under idle ban ; 

Work, work away. 



452 ELOCUTION AND OR A TOR Y. 

Though the road be lianl and rough, 

Work, work away. 
Every road is rough enough ; 

Work, work away. 
Life has much of light and love, 
There is rest and peace above, 
Guide us all, thou Heavenly Dove ! 

Work, work away, 

VIRGIL A. I'lNKLEY. 



THE ELF-CHILD. 

Little Orphant Annie 's come to our house to stay, 
An' wash the eui)s an' saucers up an' brush the crumbs away. 
An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an dust the hearth, an' sweep, 
An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board an' keep J 
An' all us other children, when the supper things is done. 
We set around the kitchen fire an' have the mostest fun, 
A-list'nin' to the witch tales 'at Annie tells about. 
An' the gobble-uns 'at gits you 
Ef you 
Don't 
Watch 
Out! 

She says they was a little boy who would n't say his pray'rs — 
An' when he went to bed at night, away up stairs, 
His mammj^ heerd him holler, an' his daddy heerd him bawl, 
An' when they turn't the kivers down, he wasn't there at all! 
An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby hole, an' press, 
An' seeked him up the chimney-flue, an everywhere, I guess, 
But all they ever found was thist his pants and roundabout — 
An' the gobble-uns 'ill git you 
Ef you 
Don't 

Watch 
Out! 

An' one time a little girl 'ud alius laugh an' grin, 

An' make fun of every one an' all her blood an' kin, 

An' onc't, when they was " company," an' ole folks was there, 

She mocked 'em, an' shocked 'em, an' said she did n't care ! 



JUVENILE. 453 

An tbist as she kicked Ijer heels, an' turn't to run an' hide, 

Tliere was two great big black things standin' by her side, 

An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed what 

she 's about ! 
An' the gobble-uns '11 git you 
Ef you 
Do n't 

Watch 
Out! 

An' little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue. 
An' the lamp-wick splutters, an' the wind goes woo-woo ! 
An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray. 
An' the lightnin' bugs in dew is all squelched away — 
You better mind your parents, an' yer teachers fond and dear, 
An' cherish them 'at love you, an' dry the orphant's tear, 
An' he'p the poor an' needy ones 'at clusters all about, 
Er the gobble-uns '11 git you 
Ef 3^ou 
Don't 

Watch 
Out! 

JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. 



THE BABY. • 

O, THIS is the way the baby came : 

Out of the night as comes the dawn ; 

Out of the embers as the flame ; 

Out of the bud the blossom 's on, 

The apple-bough that blooms the same 
As in glad summers dead and gone — 

With a grace and beauty none could name — 

O, this is the way the baby came ! 

And this is the way the baby 'woke : 
And when in deepest drops of dew 

The shine and shadows sink and soak. 

The sweet eyes glimmered through and through 

And eddpngs and dimples broke 
About the lips, and no one knew 



454 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

Or could divine the words they spoke — 
And this is the way the baby 'woke ! 

And this is the way the baby slept: 
A mist of tresses backward thrown 

By quavering sighs where kisses crept, 

With yearnings she had never known; 

The little hands were closely kept 
About a lily newly blown — 

And God was with her. And we wept; 

And this is the way the baby slept ! 



J. \V. RILEY. 



DIALOGUE. 



SANDY MACDONALD'S SIGNAL. 

"Weel, Sandy, man; and how did ye like the sermon 
the day?" 

*' Weel, it's rather a venturesome pint ter handle; but 
if ye '11 forgie the :Creedom, I was jeest gaun to say that in 
your discoorse the day — weel no gang any further than the 
one the day — in the midst o' 't like, when ye was on the top 
o' an illystration, it struck me that every noo and then — but 
ye '11 not feel offended at what I'm gaun to say?" 

*' Say away, man, and I'll tell ye after." 

''I'm comin' to the pint directly; all I was gaun to say 
was just this, that every noo and then in your discoorse the 
day — I dinna say oftener than noo and then jeest occasion- 
ally — it struck me there was may bee, frae time to time, 
jeest a wee bit o' exaggeration." 

' ' Exagger What, sir ? " 

"There, there, there! I'll no say anither word! All 
I meant to say was that ye jeest stretched the pint a 
wee bit ! " 



DIALOGUE. 455 

"Stretched the pint! D'ye mean to say, sir, that I 
tell lees?" 

" Well — Si — but I did na gang sae far as that." 

" Did ever ye hear the elders say that I exaggerated, or 
stretched the pint?" 

" I wadna say but what they hae, too." 

"0! So the elders aud the whole of ye call me a leer, 
do ye? Hau'd yer tongue, Sandy; it's my turn to speak 
now. Although I'm your minister, still I'm perfectly will- 
ing to admit that I 'm a sinful, erring creature, like any one 
o' ye ; but I 've been to colleges and seats of learning, and 
I 've got some sense in my head ! At the same time, Sandy, 
I am free to admit that I'm only a human being, and it's 
just possible that being obleedged, Sawbath after Sawbath, 
to expound the word to sic a doited set o' naturals — for if I 
wasna to mak ilka thing as big as a ' barn door ' ye wadna 
see it at a' — I say it's just possible I may have slippit into 
a kind o' habit o' magnifying things ; and it 's a bad habit to 
get into, Sandy, and it's a waur thing to be accused o' it; 
and, therefore, Sandy, I call upon you, if ever you should 
hear me say another word out o' joint, to pull me up then 
and there." 

"Losh, sir, but how could I pull ye up i' the kirk?" 

" Ye could make some kind o' noise." 

"A noise i' the kirk?" 

"Ay ! y'ere sitting down beneath me, so ye might put up 
yer head and give a bit whustle [whistles] like that." 

"A whustle? What! whustle i' the Lord's hoose o' the 
Lord's-day?" 

" Ye needna make such a disturbance about it. I dinna 
want ye to frighten the folk; but just a wee whustle, that 
naebody but our two selves could hear." 

"But would it na be an awful sin?" 

"Hoots, man, does na the wind whustle on the Sawbath ? " 

" Weel, if there's no harm in 't, I'll do my best." 

So it was agreed between the two, that the first word of 



456 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

exaggeration from the pulpit was to elicit the signal from 
the desk below. 

Next Sunday came ; and had the minister only stuck to 
his sermon he would have had the laugh on Sandy. But it 
was his habit always before the sermon to read a chapter 
from the Bible, adding such remarks and explanations as he 
thought necessary. He generally selected such chapters as 
contained a number of ticklish points, so that his marvelous 
powers of elucidation might be brought into play. On this 
occasion he had chosen one that fairly bristled with diffi- 
culties. It was the chapter describing Samson as catching 
three hundred foxes, tying them tail to tail, setting fire- 
brands in their midst, and starting them among the standing 
corn of the Philistines. As he closed the description, he 
shut the book and commenced to elucidate as follows: 

*'My dear freends, I dare say you have been wondering 
in your minds how it was possible that Samson could catch 
three hundred foxes. You or me couldna catch one fox, let 
alone three hundred — the beasts run so fast. But lo and 
behold ! here we have one single man, all by himself, catch- 
ing three hundred of them ! Now, how did he do it? That's 
the pint; and at first sight it looks a very ticklish pint; but 
it's not so ticklish as it looks, my freends; and if you give 
me your undivided attention for a few minutes, I'll clear 
away the whole difficulty, and make what now seems dark 
and incomprehensible to your uninstructed minds as clear as 
the sun in its noonday meridian. 

"Well, then, we are told in the Scriptures that Samson 
was the strongest man that ever lived ; and, furthermore, 
we are told in the chapter next after the one we have been 
reading, that he was a very polite man ; for when he was at 
the house of Dagon, he bowed with all his might, and if 
some of you, my freends, would only bow with half your 
might, it would be better for you. But although we are 
told all this, we are not told that he was a great runner. 
But if he catched three hundred foxes, he must have been a 



DIALOGUE. 457 

great runner. But, my dear freends, here 's the eloocidation 
o' the matter. Ye '11 please bear this in mind, that although 
we are not told he was the greatest runner, still, we 're not 
told he was na ; and, therefore, I contend that we have a 
perfect right to assume, by all the laws of logic and scientific 
history, that he was the fastest runner that ever was born, 
and this was how he catched the three hundred foxes. 

"But after we get rid of this difficulty, my freends, 
another crops up, — how in the world did he tie their tails 
together.^ Ah! that's the question; and it's the most ticklish 
pint you or me has ever had to eloocidate. Common sense 
is no good till 't ; no more is Latin, or Greek, or Hebrew, 
either; no more is logic or moral philosophy, and I've 
studied them all. But it 's a great thing for poor, ignorant 
folk, like you, that there 's been great and learned men, like 
myself, ye ken, that instead of going into the kirk, like me, 
or into pheesic, like the doctor, or into law, like the lawyer, 
they Have gone traveling into foreign parts. 

"Now, among other places, some of these learned men 
have traveled into Canaan, some into Palestine, and some 
few into the Holy Land ; and these last-mentioned travelers 
tell us that in these Oriental 'climes the foxes there are a 
different breed o' cattle altogether from our foxes — that 
they're great big beasts; and, what's the more astonishing 
about them, and what helps explain the wonderful feat of 
Samson, is that they have all got most extraordinary long 
tails; in fact, these travelers tell us that these foxes' tails 
are actually forty feet long [Sandy whistles] ; at the same 
time I ought to mention that other travelers, and later ones 
than the ones I 've just been speaking about, say that this 
statement is rather an exaggeration on the whole, and that 
their tails are never more than twenty feet long. [Sandy 
whistles.] 

" Before I leave this subject altogether, my freends, T 
may just add that there 's been a considerable diversity o' 
opeenion about the length o' these animals' tails, so that the 

39 



458 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

question has come to be regarded as a * sair pint.' One man, 
ye see, says one thing, and another, another, and I 've spent 
a good lot o' learned research in the matter myself, and after 
examining one authority and another, and putting one against 
the other, I have come to the conclusion that these foxes' 
tails on an average are seldom more than ten feet long! 
[Sandy whistles.] 

" Sandy Macdonald ! I'll na tak' another inch off thae 
foxes' tails, even gin ye should whustle every tooth out o' 
your held ! " anon. 



THE BRAKEMAN AT CHURCH. 

On the road once more, with Lebanon fading away in 
the distance, the fat passenger drumming idly on the win- 
dow-pane, the cross passenger sound asleep, and the tall, thin 
passenger reading *' General Grant's Tour Around the 
"World," and wondering why ''Green's August Flower" 
should be printed above the doors of "A Buddhist Temple 
at Benares." To me comes the brakeman, and seating him- 
self on the arm of the seat, says: "I went to church 
yesterday." 

"Yes?" I said, with that interested inflection that asks 
for more. "And what church did you attend?" 

"Which do you guess?" 

"Some union mission church?" 

"No. I don't like to run on these branch-roads very 
much. I do n't often go to church, and when I do, I want 
to run on the main line, where your run is regular and you 
go on schedule time, and don't have to wait on connections. 
I do n't like to run on a branch. Good enough, but I 
don't like it." 

"Episcopal?" 

"Limited express, all palace-cars, and two dollars extra 
for seat, fast time, and only stop at big stations. Nice line, 



DIALOGUE. 459 

but too exhaustive^ fof a brakeman: All train-men in uni- 
form, conductor's punch and lantern silver-plated, and no 
train-boys allowed. Then the passengers are allowed to talk 
back at the conductor, and it makes them too free and easy. 
No, I could n't stand the palace-cars. Eich road, though. 
Don't often hear of a receiver being appointed for that line. 
Some mighty nice people travel on it, too." 

' ' Universalist ! " ^ 

" Broad gauge, does too much complimentary business. 
Every body travels on a pass. Conductor does n't get a fare 
once in fifty miles. Stops at flag-stations, and won't run 
into any thing but a union depot. No smoking-car on the 
train. Train -orders are rather vague though, and the train- 
men do'n't get along well with the passengers. No, I do ii't 
go to the Universalist, but I know some good men who run 
on that road." 

"Presbyterian?" 

"Narrow gauge, eh? pretty track, straight as a rule; 
tunnel right through a mountain rather than go around it; 
spirit-level grade ; passengers have to show their tickets be- 
fore they get on the train. Mighty strict road, but the cars 
are a little narrow; have to sit one in a seat, and -no 
room in the aisle to dance. Then there is no stop-over 
tickets allowed; got to go straight through to the station 
you're ticlceted for, or you can't get on at all. ^Vhen the 
car is full, no extra coaches ; cars built at the shop to hold 
just so many, and nobody else allowed on. But you don't 
often hear of an accident on that road. It 's run right up to 
the rules." 

"May be you joined the Free Thinkers?" 
"Scrub road; dirt road-bed and no ballast; no time- 
card, and no train- dispatcher. All trains run wild, and 
every engineer makes his own time, just as he pleases. 
Smoke if you want to ; kind of go-as-you-please road. Too 
many side-tracks, and every switch wide open all the time, 
"with the switchman sound asleep, and the target-lamp dead 



460 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

out. Get on as you please, and get off when you want to. 
Do n't have to show your tickets, and the conductor is n't 
expected to do any thing but amuse the passengers. No, 
sir. I was offered a pass, but I do n't like the line. I 
do n't like to travel on a road that has no terminus. Do 
you know, sir, I asked a division superintendent where^ that 
road run to, and he said he hoped to die if he knew. I 
asked hira if the general superintendent could tell me, and 
he said he did n't believe they had a general superintendent, 
and if they had he did n't know any thing more about the 
road than the passengers. I asked him who he reported to, 
and he said ' nobody.' I asked a conductor who he got his 
orders from, and he said he did n't take orders from any liv- 
ing man or dead ghost. And when I asked the engineer 
who he got his orders from, he said he'd like to see any 
body give him orders ; he 'd run the train to suit himself, 
or he'd run it into the ditch. Now you see, sir, I 'm a rail- 
road man, and I do n't care to run on a road that has no 
time, makes no connections, runs nowhere, and has no super- 
intendent. It may be ail right, but I've railroaded too long 
to understand it." 

"May be you went to the Congregational Church?" 

"Popular road, an old road, too — one of the very oldest 
in the country. Good road-bed and comfortable cars. Well- 
managed road, too ; directors do n't interfere with division 
superintendents and train orders. Koad's mighty popular, 
but it 's pretty independent, too. Yes ; did n't one of the 
division superintendents down East discontinue one of the 
oldest stations on this line two or three years ago? But it's 
a mighty pleasant road to travel on — always has such a 
pleasant class of passengers." 

"Did you try the Methodist?" 

"Now you're shouting! Nice road, eh? Fast time and 
plenty of passengers. Engines carry a power of steam, and 
don't you forget it; steam-gauge shows a hundred, and 



DIALOGUE. 461 

enough all the time. Lively road ; when the conductor 
shouts ' all aboard,' you can hear him at the next station. 
Every train-light shines like a head-light. Stop-over checks 
are given on all through tickets ; passenger can drop off the 
train as often as he likes, do the station two or tbree days, 
and hop on the next revival train that comes thundering 
along. Good, whole-souled, companionable conductors ; ain't 
a road in the country where the passengers feel more at 
home. No passes ; every passenger pays full traffic-rates 
for his ticket. Wesleyanhouse air-brakes on all trains, too ; 
pretty safe road, but I did n't ride over it yesterday." 

"Perhaps you tried the Baptist?" 

*' Ah, ha ! she's a daisy, isn't she? River road, beauti- 
ful curves ; sweep around any thing to keep close to the 
river; but it's all steel-rail and rock-ballast, single track all 
the way, and not a side-track from the round-house to the 
terminus. Takes a heap of water to run it, though ; double 
tanks at every station, and there is n't an engine in the shops 
that can pull a pound or run a mile with less than two 
gauges. But it runs through a lovely country; those river 
roads always do; river on one side and hills on the other, 
and it 's a steady climb up the grade all the way till the run 
ends where the fountain-head of the river begins. Yes, sir ; 
I'll take the river road every time for a lovely trip ; sure 
connections and a good time, and no prairie-dust blowing in 
at the windows. And yesterday, when the conductor came 
around for the tickets with a little basket punch, I didn't 
ask him to pass me, but I paid my fare like a little man — 
twenty-five cents for an hour's run, and a little concert by 
the passengers thrown in. I tell you, pilgrim, you take the 
river road when you want " 

But just here the long whistle from the engine announced 
a station, and the brakeman hurried to the door, shouting: 

" Zionsville ! The train makes no stops between here 
and Indianapolis ! " R. J. burdette. 



462 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY, 



MARK TWAIN AND THE INTERVIEWER. 

The nervous, clapper, "pert" youDg man took the chair 
I offered him, and said he was connected with *'The Daily- 
Thunderstorm," and added : 

"Hoping it's no harm, I've come to interview you." 

"Come to what?" 

" Interview you." 

"Ah ! I see. Yes — yes. Um ! Yes — yes." 

I was not feeling bright that morning. Indeed, my 
powers seemed a bit under a cloud. However, I went to 
the book-case, and, when I had been looking six or seven 
minutes, I found I was obliged to refer to the young man. 
I said : 

"How do you spell it?" 

"Spell what?" 

"Interview." 

"O, my goodness! What do you want to spell it for?" 

" I do n't want to spell it ; I want to see what it means." 

" Well, this is astonishing, I must say. I can tell you 
what it means, if you — if you " 

" O, all right! That will answer, and much obliged to 
you, too." 

"In, m, t e r, Ur, mter " 

"Then you spell it with an IV' 

" Why certainly ! " 

" O, that is what took me so long ! " 

" AYhy, my dear sir, what did you propose to spell 
it with ? " 

"Well, I— I — I hardly know. I had the unabridged; 
and I was ciphering around in the back end, hoping I might 
tree her among the pictures. But it 's a very old edition." 

"Why, my friend, they would n't have a picture of it 

in even the latest e . My dear sir, I beg your pardon, 

I mean no harm in the world ; but you do not look as — as — 



DIALOGUE. 463 

intelligent as I expected you would. No harm, — I mean 
no harm at all." 

''O, don't mention it! It has often been said, and by 
people who would not flatter, and who could have no induce- 
ment to flatter, that I am quite remarkable in that way. 
Yes — yes ; they always speak of it with rapture." 

" I can easily imagine it. But about this interview. 
You know it is the custom, now, to interview any man who 
has become notorious." 

"Indeed! I had not heard of it before. It must be 
very interesting. What do you do it with ? " 

" Ah, well — well — well — this is disheartening. It ought 
to be done with a club, in some cases; but customarily it 
consists in the interviewer asking questions, and in the inter- 
viewed answering them. It is all the rage now. Will you 
let me ask you certain questions calculated to bring out the 
salient points of your public and private history ? " 

" O, with pleasure; with pleasure. I have a very bad 
memory ; but I hope you will not mind that. That is to 
say, it is an irregular memory, singularly irregular. Some- 
times it goes in a gallop, and then again it will be as much 
as a fortnight passing a given point. This is a great grief 
to me." 

'^O, it is no matter, so you will try to do the best 
you can." 

"I will. I will put my whole mind on it." 

" Thanks ! Are you ready to begin ?" 

''Ready." 

Question. How old are you ? 
Answer. Nineteen in June. . 

Q. Indeed! I would have taken you to be thirty-five or 
six. Where were you born? 

A. In Missouri. "^ 

Q. AVlien did you begin to write ? 

A. In 1836. 

Q. Why, how could that be, if you are only nineteen now ? 

A. I do n't know. It does seem curious, somehow. 



464 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

Q. It does indeed. Whom do you consider the most remark- 
able man you ever met ? 

A. Aaron Burr. 

Q. But you never could have met Aaron Burr, if you are 
only nineteen years 

A. Now, if you know more about me than I do, what do you 
ask me for? 

Q. Well, it was only a suggestion ; nothing more. How did 
you happen to meet Burr? 

A. Well, I happened to be at his funeral one day ; and he 
asked me to make less noise, and 

Q. But, good heavens! If you were at his funeral, he must 
have been dead ; and, if he was dead, how could he care whether 
you made a noise or not ? 

A. I don't know. He was always a particular kind of a 
man that way. 

Q. Still I don't understand it at all. You say he spoke to 
you, and that he was dead ? 

A . I did n't say he was dead. 

Q. But was n't he dead ? 

A. Well, some said he was, some said he wasn't. 

Q. But what do you think? 

A. 0, it was none of my business! It wasn't any of my 
funeral. 

Q. Did you However, we can never get this matter 

straight. Let me ask about something else. What was the date 
•of your birth ? 

A. Monday, October 31, 1693. 

Q. What! Impossible! That would make you a hundred 
and eighty years old. How do you account for that? 

A. I don't account for it at all. 

Q. But you said at first you were only nineteen, and now 
you make yourself out to be one hundred and eighty. It is an 
awful discrepancy. 

Q. Why, have you noticed that? (Shaking hands.) Many a 
time it has seemed to me like a discrepancy; but somehow I 
couldn't make up my mind. How quick you notice a thing! 

Q. Thank you for the compliment, as far as it goes. Had 
you, or have you, any brothers or sisters ? 

A. Eh ! I — I — think so — yes— but I do n't remember. 

Q. Well, that is the most extraordinary statement I ever 
heard. 



DIALOGUE, ^ 465 

A. Why, what makes you think that? 

.Q. How could I think otherwise? Why, look here! Who 
is this a picture of on the wall ? Is n't that a brother of j^ours ? 

A. O, yes, yes, yes! Now you remind me of if, that was 
a brother of mine. That's William; Bill we called him. Poor 
old Bill! 

Q. Why, is he dead, then ? 

A. Ah, well, I suppose so. We never could tell. There was 
a great mystery about it, 

Q. That is sad, very sad. He disappeared, then ? 

A. Well, yes, in a sort of general way. We buried him. 

Q. Buried him ! Buried him without knowing whether he 
was dead or not? 

A. no! Not that. He was dead enough. 

Q. AVell, I confess that I can't understand this. If you 
buried him, and you knew he was dead 

A. No, no ! We only thought he was. 

Q. O, I see! He came to life again? 

A. I bet he didn't! 

Q. Well, I never heard any thing like this. Somebody was 
dead. '■ Somebody was buried. Now, where was the mystery? 

A. Ah, that's just it! That's it exactly. You see we were 
twins — defunct and I; and we got mixed in the bath-tub when 
we were only two weeks old, and one of us was drowned. But 
we didn't know which. Some think it was Bill; some think it 
was me. 

Q. Well, that is remarkable. What do you think? 

A. Goodness knows! I would give whole worlds to know. 
This solemn, this awful mystery has cast a gloom over my whole 
life. But I will tell you a secret now, which I never have 
revealed to any creature before. One of us had a peculiar mark, 
a large mole, on the back of his left hand ; that was me. That 
child was the one that ivas drowned. 

Q. Very well, then, I do n't see that there is any mystery 
about it after all. 

J. You don't? well, I do. Any way, I don't see how they 
could ever have been such a blundering lot as to go and bury the 
wrong child. But, 'sh! don't mention it where the family can 
hear of it. Heaven knows they have heart-breaking troubles 
enough without adding this. 

Q. Well, I believe I have got material enough for the present ; 
and I am very much obliged to you for the pains you have taken. 



466 ELOCUTION AND ORA TORY. 

But I was a good deal interested in that account of Aaron Burr's 
funeral. Would you mind telling me what particular circum- 
stance it was that made you think Burr was such a remarkable 
man ? 

A. O, it was a mere trifle ! Not one man in fifty would have 
noticed it at all. AVhen the sermon was over and the procession 
all ready to start for the cemetery, and the body all arranged 
nice in the hearse, he said he wanted to take a last look at the 
scenery ; so he got up and rode with the driver. 

Then the young man reverently withdrew. He was very- 
pleasant company, and I was sorry to see him go. 



AWFUI.I.Y LOVELY PHILOSOPHY. 

A FEW days ago a Boston girl, who had been attending 
the School of Philosophy at Concord, arrived in Brooklyn, 
on a visit to a seminary chum. After canvassing thoroughly 
the fun and gum-drops that made up their education in the 
seat of learning at which their early scholastic efforts were 
made, the Brooklyn girl began to inquire the nature of the 
Concord entertainment. 

"And so you are taking lessons in philosophy! How do 
you like it?" 

" O, it's perfectly lovely ! It's about science, you know, 
and we all just dote on science." 

" It must be nice. What is it about ? ** 

"It's about molecules as much as any thing else, and 
molecules are just too awfully nice for any thing. If there's 
any thing I really enjoy it's molecules." 

"Tell me about them, my dear. What are molecules?" 

"O, molecules! They are little wee things, and it takes 
ever so many of them. They are splendid things. Do you 
know, there ain't any thing but what 's got molecules in it. 
And Mr. Cook is just as sweet as he can be, and Mr. 
Emerson too. They explain every thing so beautifully." 



DIALOGUE. 467 

"How I'd like to go there!" said the Brooklyn girl, 
enviously. 

" You 'd enjoy it ever so much. They teaeh protoplasm, 
too, and if there is one thing perfectly heavenly it's proto- 
plasm. I really don't know which I like best, protoplasm 
or molecules." 

"Tell me about protoplasm. I know I should adore it." 

"'Deed you would. It's just too sweet to live. You 
know it 's about how things get started, or something of that 
kind. You ought to hear Mr. Emerson tell about it. It 
would stir your very soul. The first time he explained 
about protoplasm there wasn't a dry eye in the house. We 
named our hats after him. This is an Emerson hat. You 
see the ribbon is drawn over the crown, and caught with a 
buckle and a bunch of flowers. Then you turn up the side 
with a spray of forget-me-nots. Ain't it just too sweet? 
All the girls in the school have them." 

"How exquisitely lovely ! Tell me some more science." 

" O, I almost forgot about diflTerentiation. I am really 
and truly positively in love with differentiation. It's differ- 
ent from molecules and protoplasm, but it's every bit as nice. 
And Mr. Cook ! You should hear him go on about it. I 
really believe he's perfectly bound up in it. This scarf is 
the Cook scarf. All the girls w^ear them, and we named 
them after him, just on account of the interest he takes in 
differentiation." 

" What is it, any way ? " 

" This is m-ull, trimmed with Languedoc lace — " 

" I do n't mean that ; that other." 

" O, differentiation! Ain' it sweet? It's got something 
to do with species. It's the way you tell one hat from an- 
other, so you'll know which is becoming. And we learn all 
about ascidians, too. They are the divinest things ! I 'm 
absolutely enraptured with ascidians. If I only had an 
ascidian of my own I would n't ask any thing else in the 
world." 



468 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

"What do they look like, dear? Did you ever see one?" 
asked the Brooklyn girl, deeply interested. 

*'0 no; nobody ever saw oue except Mr. Cook and Mr. 
Emerson ; but they are something like an oyster with a reti- 
cule hung on its belt. I think they are just heavenly." 

"Do you learn any thiug else besides?" 

"O yes. We learn about common philosophy and logic, 
and those common things like metaphysics; but the girls 
do n't care any thing about those. We are just in ecstasies 
over differentiations and molecules, aud Mr. Cook and 
protoplasms, and ascidians and Mr. Emerson, and I really 
do n't see why they put in those vulgar branches. If any 
body besides Mr. Cook and Mr. Emerson had done it, we 
should have told him to his face that he was too terribly, 
awfully mean." 

And the Brooklyn girl went to bed that night in the 
dumps, because fortune had not vouchsafed her the advan- 
tages enjoyed by her friend. 



THE ELOCUTION APPLICANT. 

** Be you Professor Blish ? " 

"Be you the feller what's goin' to speak pieces this 
evenin'?" 

The Professor politely replied in the affirmative. 

"Sho! You don't say so now!" she replied. " Well, 
now, you do n't look much as if you could beat the school- 
master down to our deestrick. Why do n't you raise a 
mackintosh an' whiskers? I tell ye them goes a good ways 
towards makin' a chap look as if he knowed sumthin'. My 
darter, Meely, here, wants ter larn ter speak pieces like them 
ere play-acter folks. I tell her that she can hold her own 
with any on 'em now, but she wants ter go ahead on 'em all. 
Ye see gals will be gals, an' about all on 'em in our dees- 
trick have sot their caps for the school-master. He 's Deacon 



DIALOGUE. 469 

Crabtree's nephy that lives over ter Plymouth. My Meely, 
here, has got the advantage of all of 'em, as the master 
boards to our house. Meely has spoke pieces lots o' times 
in school, but she wants ter get so she can jest take the 
shine ofF'n all the rest on 'em." 

The professor, being something of a wag, could not resist 
the inclination to have a little fun at the good woman's ex- 
pense, and in reply to her long tirade, he put on his inimi- 
table Dutch face and said : 

*' Off a rollin' shtone vas der root of all efil, and a settin' 
hens vould catch der early vorm by chance der usual vay ; 
alzo der early bird vould not got fat on moss ofer he do n't 
had vorms, ain't it ? " 

The woman gazed at him in open-mouthed wonder, while 
Meely edged towards the door. 

** My ! I did n't know you was an outlandisher, but you 
hain't got them sayings right. Mister " 

"Go! go! You question with a wicked tongue. No, 
by the rood, not so! You are the queen, your husband's 
brother's wife ! And — would it were not so ! — you are my 
mother! Come, come, and sit you down! You shall not 
budge! You go not till I -set you up a glass, where you 
may see the inmost part of you. Do not look upon me, lest 
with this piteous action you convert my stern effects. Then 
what I have to do will want true color — tears, perchance, 
for blood. Good night — and when you are desirous to be 
blessed, I '11 blessing beg of you." 

*' My ! what a feller he is to run on ! He acts most as 
if he was crazy, Meely. You are mistaken. Mister ; I hain't 
married to a second husband ; 't was my sister Samantha, 
that married her husband's brother, and that was Erastus 
Cornwall. She married Jabe for her first husband — Jabe 
Cornwall, an' he run off an' left her. Somebody found out 
that I was a-comin' ter see ye, an' they 've tried ter set ye 
agin me. I see how 'tis, blast their picturs. Meely, you 
shall learn ter speak pieces now if it costs me a dollar." 



470 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. 

Suddenly the expression on the face of the elocutionist 
changed, and he became the veritable Yankee: 

''Does the little, chatterin', sassy wren, no bigger 'n my 
thumb, know more 'n men ? Jest show me that, ur prove 't 
a bat 's got more brains 'n 's in my hat, 'n I '11 back deown, 
'n not tell then — " 

"Massy! what does the man mean?" 

*' He calls me a sassy wren," whined Meely. 

"Look a-here, Mister! I'll go right home and tell my 
husband jes' how you 've treated me. I guess you '11 find out 
who you 're a-talkin' to. My husband is one of the select 
men, an' he's school agent in our deestrick ; he's " 

** Mon Dieu, madame ! He been dead tree tousand year! 
See ze lettaire writing by Christopher Colombo ; write eet 
heemself — bees own handwriting all by heemself. O, Santa 
Maria, zees ees ze bust, an' zees ees ze pedestal ! " 

*' My dear man, I'm sorry for ye. I see now what you 
mean ; you ain't right in your head. You 've been on a bust, 
an' feel as if you 'd been dead three thousand years. I 've 
heard my husband say that he felt so once after he went to 
a raisin', an' took a little too much rum an' merlasses. 
You jist take a smart dose of lobelia tea, an' it '11 make 
ye as bright as a new pin. I see now that yer a French- 
man, but I don't know but yer jest as good as a Yankee; 
an' French teachers is the best, they say. I want my 
darter — she's smart, if I do say it — I want her ter be able 
ter read with the best on 'em. She kin beat the Joneses 
now, an " 

*' Thim Hoolihan b'ys is all readers, but Teddy jist skins 
'em all alive ! Wid their pennies an' paynuts an' marbles 
ivery wan iv his pockets he'll fill be the twhist av 
his wrist! An' sich tactics as Teddy knows well to con- 
thrive. They'd gladly thrade off their book larnin' for 
Teddy's superior skill ! " 

''Why, bless me, he's an Irishman, an' crazy at that! 
Meely, les git right out of here." 



DIALOGUK 471 

'' Und zo dot shool-meester did kick dot lambs kvick owet, 
But still dot lambs did loaf round on der outsides, 
Und did shoo der flies mit his tail off patiently aboud, 
Until Mary did come alzo from dot school-house owet," 

went on the Professor. 

" You are mistaken, mother," said Meely ; *' he 's a Dutch 
gentleman. I don't like Dutch folks." 

" What though on homely fare we dine, 
Wear hoddin gray and a' that, 
Gie fools their silks and knaves their wine, 
A man 's a man for a' that ! " 

"O yes; I suppose you're just as much a man as ef 
you was an American. I believe in every body's bavin, 
their rights." 

" I '11 have my bo7id! I will not hear thee speak! I will 
have my bond, and therefore speak no more ! " 

" I haven't got no bond that belongs to you, and, as for 
speakin', I'll say what I please ! There ain't no man on this 
American continent goin' ter tell me ter shet up, 'thout 1 
sass him back. You're a crazy, outlandish fool, an' I don't 
want my darter to larn none o' sich doings." 

" This is a sorry sight ! Methought I heard a voice cry : 
^ Sleep no more. Macbeth does murder sleep!' Whence is that 
knocking ? W^hat hands are here ! Ha ! they pluck out mine 
eyes! Hence ! horrible shadow, unreal mockery, hence!'" 

" Poor man, how bad his folks must feel. I wonder they 
let him go round so alone. Come, Meely, I guess we '11 take 
his advice, an' go home ; but I 'm sure I sba n't sleep a wink 
this blessed night. Good-bye, mister. If I had anything 
to do with you, I should shave your head an' put on a blis- 
ter ; blisters are powerful good in such cases." 

ANON. 






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